


In inceptum finis est

by TaangyChocolate



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Teen Titans - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, F/F, Magic Foster Family AU, Time Travel, knights and mystics, time displacement
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-27
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2020-07-21 08:02:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19998589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaangyChocolate/pseuds/TaangyChocolate
Summary: Time travel is a damned, blessed thing.





	1. The Knight

_710 AD_

Carrie gritted her teeth as she lunged to the side, just barely avoiding the fiery blast from the dragon. 

She loaded her crossbow and held up her shield, easily blocking yet another burst of fire. Her eyes narrowed behind the glass of her visor, watching as the iron of her armor weakened at the continued abuse. 

The knight pounced to the left and could only pray that her squadron heard her yell for them to dodge the dragon’s attack. They scattered, separated by the wall of flame that set the ground alight. She heard one of her men call out that the base of the rocky hill was engulfed, but she paid the danger no mind. 

She never did. 

Rolling on her side, Carrie used her momentum to sprint forward, skipping over the rocks so fast one might think she was gliding as effortlessly as the bird whose name she bore. The dragon let out another ear-splitting roar and sent a curtain of flames into the sky, painting the already gray clouds black. Carrie noticed but ultimately ignored how her fellow knights shied away from the wave of heat, her steps instinctively barrelling further up the rocky peak. 

The beast’s claws finally let go of the crumbly rocks that it held and it took to the sky, pushing so hard on the ground that Carrie stumbled, sliding down as a torrent of loose stones buckled under her feet. 

Pebbles scratched her visor and the woman scrambled up, making another furious rush up the hill. The harmonious _twang!_ of hundreds of lit arrows being fired filled her ears and she pushed herself to a dead sprint as the creature went falling back down, its claws scratching at the metal tips stuck in its scales. 

Carrie hurdled the swinging tail, shielding her body with the dragon’s as another bout of arrows lit up the sky. The beast let out an awful screech as the fire-laden steel points pierced past its scales and into its flesh, another blast of fire escaping as Carrie slid onto her knees, holding the pointed bottom of her shield steady as she stuck the beast’s underbelly. 

The redhead dug the tip of her crossbow’s arrow in between two scales to hold her balance as the arrows came raining down, gritting her teeth as her chain metal groaned out against yet another brunt of heat. A world-shaking scream joined the angry burst of fire as the beast was blinded by a barrage of arrows in its sclera. 

It dug its long claws into the earth and shook its body like a dog with fleas, feeling the annoyingly sharp prickle of Carrie’s bolt digging deeper in its flesh. 

She pried her shield out of the dragon and rode the short burst of blood down to the gravel below. Her boots crunching against a mix of still eroding boulders and bleached bones, Carrie went down on one knee and loaded her crossbow. 

One mossy eye closed as she took careful aim, her sights on the center of the dragon’s head. It was sending out another blast of fire towards where her men were desperately trying to organize the next round of archers. The bolt already in place, her shoulders twitched as the dragon’s roar of fire snapped its head closer to where she crouched. 

Its eyes slitted as it caught sight of her. Carrie pulled the trigger.

Another series of flaming arrows, low enough to hit the dragon’s dying body. It let one last ferocious howl as the crossbow’s bolt pierced its brain, falling to the earth as arrows landed in its shiny scales, uninterrupted.

Carrie dove after it, crawling along the protruding scales of its back as she avoided the rest of the flaming arrows. As she’d done five times before, the knight made her way to the dead dragon’s head. 

There, where the serpentine’s ears would have gone if it had any, something bright shined within. The redhead easily took one of the daggers strapped to her boot and dug the pendant out. As gold as any king’s ring and with a centerpiece of pyrope carved into the shape of a bird, the flat disk was the same as the other ten ones she had pulled from her previous conquests. A heavy sigh escaped her and she tucked it away inside her breastplate.

Down past the blaze, the rest of Gotham’s soldiers watched as The Robin proudly climbed atop the beast’s head and raised her empty crossbow in victory. A chorus of cheers met her move and the generals motioned for the archers to put the fire out from their bows. 

Carrie jumped down as they began putting out the inferno that kept her next to the dragon, expertly cutting out the identical disk out of the dragon’s other ear-hole. 

She hid it next to its twin and jogged down the rocky slope, nodding at the trio of knights that came to meet her. They stood to attention as she approached. All three tapped the silver bat symbol that adorned their chests, reciting a respectful “Bereavement of Wit” to the highest ranking knight in the land. 

The Robin nodded at them, her blood-soaked chainmail shiny in the overcast light. Still, the gold bat on her chest gleamed like a beacon, reminding all around of her status. 

She cleared her throat, wincing at the taste of soot in her mouth. “Report,” The command’s effect was immediate: two of the knights went in opposite directions to oversee the firefighting, the middle one stepped next to her, keeping half a stride back as she made her way down to her squadron. 

“The King has set post just before the village, as before. He is awaiting your arrival.”

Carrie let out a quiet hum, her brows furrowing at the news. She held up a palm, “Thank you. Dismissed.”

The knight nodded and made himself busy elsewhere as Carrie’s pace quickened. She made to where she had been split apart from her squadron, shoulders dropping in relief as she quickly counted them; all had survived the battle. The Robin grinned behind her mask, her mouth full of blood and her nose full of ash as her men noticed her arrival and surrounded her, clapping her on the shoulder and letting out appreciative curses that ‘The Robin saved our asses again.’

Carrie snickered at the reunion, her heart full; _finally_ , they had won. That was the last dragon for nearly five days’ worth of travel from all directions. Granted, the smoldering forests and two abandoned villages were a concession, but the cost was worth everything. No more dragon meant that stench of magic would lessen its hold over Gotham. 

Her lips tightened behind her mask at the thought and her head turned to the east, spotting the burning torch that adorned the top of the king’s tent. Carrie’s men cheered as she strode past, thumping their chests and chanting out her alias as she headed towards where the king awaited her presence. As she sunk into the crowded brush of the forest she opened the flaps of her helmet, savoring the booming cries of “Robin! Robin! Robin!” behind her. Her vision stayed green behind the visor until she passed the guards that kept watch over the king, unclasping her helmet and yanking it off as she stepped into the tent. 

Carrie immediately put it back on as Terrance ushered her out, his hand motioning for his cart to come up. The horses neighed as they trotted up, their tails flicking at the flies and strings of fabric that fluttered near their hinds. She waited until the royal was inside to follow him, grimacing as her bloody armor scraped against the polished wood. The redhead finally was able to fully show her face and let out a haggard groan, sputtering at the scent of perfume and cow dung. Shaking her head, Carrie ran a gloved hand through her hair, uncaring about the dragon’s blood that smeared through her short locks. Her other hand pulled out the two pendants and she tossed them Terrance’s way, her lips splitting into a grin as he gasped as he tried to make sure the jewels didn’t hit each other as he caught them. The king’s smile brightened at the condition of the pendants, even if the light didn’t reach his eyes. “You did great, my friend,” Terrance clapped her on her arm, his grin genuine as he nodded at his long-time confidant. 

Carrie smiled back, the curl of her lips faltering as her gaze settled back on the crimson jewels within the palm-sized disks. She licked her dry lips, “Any idea what they are yet?”

He shook his head. Terrance leaned back to glance outside the cart’s window, “Nothing that we know of for certain. There’s a particular brand of magic in both the gold and the pyrope in all ten --or should I say twelve-- of them, but we still don’t know where they came from or _how_ they’re connected to these dragons.” 

He frowned, a hand reaching up to trace where her chainmail had taken the brunt of the beast’s attacks. The superheated metal was still melting at an impossibly slow pace, but the armor would succumb soon enough. The king raised his head as the sound of the barracks passed them by, “Or why their fire burns so intently…”

Terrance balanced his fingers along the charred holes and paused as the horses neighed. The cart slowed to a stop. He nodded to the knight as she remasked herself and stood, waiting until she exited first to hold the door open for him. King Terrance shrugged his shoulder towards Carrie, motioning for her to follow him to the meeting room. As they traveled the outpost’s temporary walls soldiers and knights alike gave way to them, tapping their chestplates and declaring “Bereavement of Wit” to both. 

The meeting room was a mess of activity: cluttered around the table, maps and scrolls laid on the wood and all the highest-ranking knights and generals stooped over them. The creak of the doors opening stilled them and their conversations immediately. The generals saluted and every knight present stood at attention as the king entered, respectfully nodding at Carrie’s still shrouded face. 

She silently drummed her fingers against the armor on her thigh, feeling the hair thin cuts that marred her fingertips. They still stung with the force of her splintered crossbow, but she paid them no mind. Especially as the king took his position in the center of the room, his look commanding one of the generals to shift to make room for her. Carrie crossed her arms over her chest, not minding the spine-tingling metallic scape that the act caused. She raised her chin as Terrance touched her shoulder, easily lifting another piece of armor that was just barely holding onto her body. 

“You see!” Terrance held up the completely warped mess that used to be the forearms of her chainmail, “ _This_ is why The Robin is my finest knight! All of you can learn from her!”

“Hopefully there won’t be a need for them to,” She piped up. He glanced at her from the corner of her eye and she shrugged one shoulder, rolling her jaw. Carrie looked over the pinned marks that mapped all dragon activity on the continent, “That seemed to be the last of this particular species. The others around Tamaran and Krypton are smaller and not nearly as prone to fire.”

“They’re right. That was the last dragon in our territory. But we need to find out why they settled around Gotham,” Terrance’s face was stony. “None of the neighboring countries have anything more than a common nesting area and they have _never_ attacked humans unless provoked first.”

The king raised his palms, looking at the generals expectantly, “Have you figured _anything_ out yet?”

One cleared his throat. He was the scrawniest of the bunch, raised to level of general for his accuracy in planning rather than his fighting prowess. His brown eyes flicked across the room, his stare serious as it landed on the king. “I’ve made a breakthrough on an aspect of the dragons’ _senses_ ,” He stressed. “But I am unsure if you’d like me to explain everything I know now, my King.”

Terrance sighed and held up a palm. His face went to the rest of the room, “Any other news?”

When his question was answered with silence the royal tilted his chin to the door, “Dismissed then. Keep the lines steady and begin sending squadrons back to their regular patrols as soon as the fire is completely out and the dragon's body is secure. We don't need people trying for trophies.”

The others tapped the bats on their chests, waited the appropriate half-second, then began filing out the door. Carrie didn’t move, her eyes flicking to the general as he ran a hand over his beard, his shoulders tense. Terrance pinched in between his eyes and she ran a tongue over her teeth, grunting out, “What is it?”

The general bristled at her harsh tone and the king gave her a sideways glance, but Carrie kept speaking, “We had all the information a month ago. All of us thought number five was the last one and it wasn’t. Now another three villages are ashes and we _still_ don’t have anything viable about these dragons. Speak up.”

Terrance held up his palm, “She’s right, General. Tell us what you’ve found. No toeing around the matter.”

“There is an order to these dragon appearances,” The general began, pulling a scroll out of his robes and unraveling it, laying the stamped paper in front of his audience. “Once we got the third one we assumed this was a biblical event, either ending at the sixth or the seventh.”

Carrie tilted her head, keeping an eye on her armor creaks as it continued to slowly melt. Her mind was on the dragon she’d just vanquished, “What does six have to do with anything?”

His lips tightened, grim at the topic and not her interruption, “While I am still awaiting the Church’s opinion on the matter, I fear that the fire that they spew is hellfire. In fact,” His fingers pointed to his summaries of each of Carrie’s seven dragon-besting accounts, stamped by the king’s insignia, “Every second dragon has abstained from shooting fire into the sky. But I'd imagine this sixth one shot off two?”

Terrance’s eyes narrowed. 

The general continued, “Also, every third dragon caused more destruction than its two predecessors. We haven’t lost more than a village at a time before this one, and I fear that this seventh dragon will continue the cycle.”

The king hummed out, “You know this even if they aren’t biblical in nature?”

“That’s the problem. Besides from what little witches are left, we don’t have much knowledge on _how_ the creatures’ anatomy works, let alone how connected they are to the Devil.”

Carrie looked up, “You think the Devil is behind these attacks?”

“Him or someone close to him, yes.”

Rolling his jaw, he bored his gaze into the royal’s face, “This is looking to be a completely calculated assault, my King. I don’t know by _who_ or how they became so proficient in such magic, but there’s no doubt in my mind that a seventh dragon will appear within a moon.”

“With the same pendants?”

At the man’s nod Terrance let out a sigh, pinching the skin between his brows. A beat as he took a deep breath, then, “Understood. Leave us be for a moment, General. I must speak with The Robin about something.”

After a beat he added, “And map out where all the dragons have attacked. See if we can get a step up on evacuations.” The general nodded again and left the room, leaving the two alone. Carrie finally pried off her armor and let it rest on the floor, the corners of her lips quirking down at how the chainmail buckled under its own weight. She let out a sigh, “How long do you _really_ think until the next one’ll come?”

“I’m hoping for at least a fortnight,” Terrance muttered, running a hand over his face. His sapphire eyes flicked to her armor, “Regardless, I’ll have a new one made for you by night’s end.”

The knight pressed a fist to her chin, chewing on the inside of her cheek. Her voice took on a lilt, “Knowing our luck, the next dragon will show up in a few days’ time.”

“But you’ll be ready?” The king aimed a smile her way, his mood lightening at her morbid humor of the matter, “Just like you always are.”

Carrie smirked, confident despite the news. Her jaw tilted to the pendants in his hand, “I’ll get you number thirteen and fourteen.”

\--

A day was all it took. 

The rumbling tipped everyone off and then nothing but _chaos_. As wide as a catapult and as long as a bathhouse from snout to tail, this dragon was the smallest yet the most ferocious that Carrie had encountered. Paired with the shadows that seemed to engulf the country, all Gotham saw was _darkness_ , pierced by a crimson beast roaring down at them.

Ruffled with roughly textured feathers and wings that were troublingly similar to the bat symbol that she bore on her chest, Carrie was wholly unprepared for how _agile_ this beast was. Obviously a different species than the first six, this dragon seemed zoned in on _her_ in particular.

Diving away from her squadron, the knight lunged forward and stumbled, the move just barely avoiding a swipe of the dragon’s paws. Sprinting more to put room between her fellow soldiers and herself, Carrie fumbled with her bolt as she zig-zagged along the tall grass. As soon as she was far enough to finally get a shot, two flaming masses were launched into the air. The dragon dodged the catapults' attacks in a move that seemed far too limber for such a stocky creature, it’s jaws snapping as it dove down, golden eyes narrowed on the redhead.

Its shadow dwarfed her and she gasped out, “Damn it all to Hell!” Carrie let out a grunt as she roughly pivoted in the dirt, knowing that her knee would be screaming at her later. The dragon swirled in the air, circling around as it kept its golden gaze on her.

Not even a roar this time, but a silent continuation of this controlled attack. 

The chains rattled off the dragon’s back as it continued to weave through the air, it’s feathery wings noisily flapping as it circled around. The flaming arrows were no annoyance and the catapults did not invoke even a passing glance. Carrie locked her bolt in place and made a dash towards the forestline. The _clang!_ of the catapult letting go filled her ears and she turned, expertly aiming her crossbow in the dragon’s direction. The beast rose up a few meters to avoid the flames and she fired. 

Her eyes widened as the bolt stopped in mid-air, deflecting off of some invisible shield. Armored shoulders fell in indecision as the dragon flew up higher among the clouds and let out an eardrum-shattering roar, its wings spreading out in the same pose as the bat that Gotham bore as its own. 

Curling around like a leaf in the breeze, the knight let out a cry as the dragon swooped down and plucked her off the ground. It’s bulk shielded her from the thick, dry branches that snapped around them and Carrie fumbled as she tried to load her crossbow again, a shaky curse slipping out of her as they ascended dizzyingly high up. 

In mere seconds emerald eyes could just barely make out the two orange blots that were the catapults, the mass of iron and bronze that made up the soldiers’ armor but more resembled an anthill, even the sunbleached beige wood that made up the roof of King Terrance’s tent. Fighting the urge to hyperventilate, _especially_ with how thin the air and how far the ground was getting, Carrie struggled against the nails that held her.

Her breath caught in her throat as the creature sunk its claws through her armor as if it were cloth, digging red marks in her skin. Not enough to maim or even injure, but to _warn_. She went still as she tried to think of anything that she could do; she couldn’t bend enough to reach her dagger, and even if she could any strike to the dragon wouldn’t be anywhere near as fatal as her fall would most certainly be. 

Beyond the green of her visor Carrie noted the mountain range quickly coming into view. A barrier between Gotham and Tamaran, the rocky terrain was inhospitable, usually devoid of all signs of life. But a man-made cave was carved into the side of its highest peak, hidden by the sky’s fog and shielded by the worn overhang that protected the path that missionaries took. The dragon easily soared through the clouds, the thick gray mist wetting her face and hiding their progress from the rest of the soldiers’ view, so far away.

Carrie tucked herself into a ball as the dragon tossed her into the cave, rolling to a stop as she tried to gather her bearings. The knight yanked the dagger out of her boot and stood low, trying to find a space to hide as she kept her wits about her. Defensive, she kept her eyes towards the dragon but it merely huffed at her, its eyes constricting into slits as it turned away. 

The beast’s movements to guard the cave’s outside lost her attention as the shadows seemed to move of their own accord, flicking around her. They matched her thundering heart beat for beat, mixing so flawlessly the Carrie wondered if her mind was slipping in the thin air. The shadows that surrounded her were aggressive and curious, passionate and timid, impatient and indulgent. 

Carrie squared her jaw as a surge of voices filled her head, multiplying over and over again until a single chant was repeated by a chorus she couldn't see: _In inceptum finis est! In inceptum finis est! In inceptum finis est!_

Another melody of voices filled her head, echoing from everywhere and nowhere, **Azarath! Mentrion! Zinthos!**

She _knew_ those voices; one of them was her own. They drowned out her other thoughts until it was just the two phrases and her heartbeat pounding in her ears. The shadows’ cries mixed and mashed together, seven and eight syllables combining to a chant, one voice after the other until they couldn't be told apart: 

_in inceptum_ **azarath** _finis_ **mentrion** _est_ **zinthos.** _In Inceptum_ **Azarath!** _Finis_ **Mentrion!** _Est_ **Zinthos!** _IN INCEPTUMI!!_ **AZARATH!!!** _FINIS!!_ **MENTRION!!!** _EST!!_ **ZINTHOS!!!**

She didn’t know what they meant, she didn’t need to. They were familiar, something she’d known her whole life. They were foreign, something she’d yet to ever encounter.

Shaking her head as she desperately tried to avoid listening to the words before they consumed her, Carrie grabbed her crossbow and tried to load the bolt. A breathless gasp escaped her as suddenly the shadows stopped and the cave went unearthly quiet.

A long-lasting chime screeched in her ears at the lack of noise. The Robin jammed the bolt in place and wished she wasn’t wearing her helmet that did nothing to block out the sound. Another scrape of chains against rock. Her heart in her throat, Carrie spun around and ducked as the dragon roared again, its scream rattling the cave’s top. The creature’s claws sunk into the solid rock of the cave’s opening and the shadows gave way to _light_ , blinding and all-encompassing.

It sizzled against her flesh; not as fierce as fire, not as cool as the summer’s sunbeams. The rush of water filled her ears and Carrie felt her body _move_. Faster than the dragon had carried her, faster than any horseback ride or tumble off a cliff, faster than the wind’s gales during the rare hurricanes. The light filled her chest, riding over every sense until she simply _was_ , traveling beyond anything she could imagine. 

The dragon’s roar and the shadows’ voices replaced her brain and, overcome, Carrie’s eyes rolled back as she blacked out, the gasp still on her lips.


	2. The Summoning

_615 AD_

Zatanna rubbed at her eyes as she reread King Bruce’s scroll, not even bothering to hold back the annoyed groan that escaped her. Another attack that hadn’t even gotten halfway to the capital and here he was demanding a whole array of force fields and protective spells. 

The mystic leaned back in her chair, her eyes sliding up to the portrait of her father that hung on the wall for as long as she could remember. Smiling, Zatanna let out a heavy sigh and pinched the skin between her eyes as she glanced at the scroll, her mood worsening as the list of Bruce’s demands filled her head again. Damn her king and his paranoia… 

Making up her mind (not that she had too much of a choice, given the words' firmness), she stood and made her way to the library. The paintings that lined the walls were as pristine as ever and she hummed as the faint traces of magic emanated off them. When she didn’t see any sign of her lover Zatanna checked the kitchen next, then the potions’ room, then the southmost watchtower. Annoyed, a hand cupped over her mouth and she called out into the calm afternoon air, “Constantine!” 

His voice came from inside Shadowcrest, clear through a window, “Corner office!” 

The blond was perched on one of the office's stools, a handful of old scrolls around him and a chalice of something steaming (and, knowing him, alcoholic) resting on the table. The sorcerer looked up at her as he unraveled one of the twine knots and raised a brow, his sapphire eyes silently taking in the look on her face. Constantine wordlessly held out his chalice and she took it. Zatanna took a sip of the mead, deciding it was best not to ask _where_ he found it (given that the nearest inn was half a day away and soldiers rarely stepped foot on her family’s land). She let the taste of honey and bitter alcohol mix over her tongue then sighed out, “The King requires my assistance.”

“Again?”

She gave him a look and John shrugged, resting an elbow on a knot that protruded out the table’s edge. He ran a tongue over his teeth and tilted his head back, feeling the dwindling hum of magic and watching as their most vital potion continued its silent _drip! drip! drip!_ down into the hourglass. 

Zatanna knew that he’d say what was worrying her, but she still bit the inside of her cheek as he murmured, “Shadowcrest’s shields are low. We can't fully renew them for another week…”

“I know,” The woman fiddled with the tight edges of her sleeves. Her shoulders rose and fell with her breath, “Just, just do a small spell each day. I trust you.”

The blond glanced at the potion and then at her, a smirk curling his lips, “The King’d have a fit if he heard you say that.”

That got a laugh out of the mystic, soft as it was. She sat atop the stool next to him and sighed, looking over all the rune sketches he had laid out. “The shields around Gotham will hold for a few more fortnights,” Zatanna spoke. “I’ll redirect all my power towards them. We shouldn’t have to worry about any soldiers or spies getting close, but with how King Bruce is…”

She trailed off, rolling her eyes and waving a hand in the space between them. Constantine grinned, “I’ll dilute, not replace.” 

The mage’s face brightened at his words and he immediately added, “But if you ever change your mind and need some proper English charm in here--” His teasing was cut off with her palm on his lips. Zatanna’s look was flat even as the smile threatened her face, “I don’t need your enchantments mingling with my home’s aura, John.”

He kissed her palm and stood, crouching to peck her hairline. His hands came to rest on the stool’s seat, brushing against her bottom, “You don’t seem to mind most of the year.”

“That’s because I’m here to make sure my father’s house doesn’t fall to disarray,” Zee shot back, her voice teasing. Arms snaking around his shoulders, the royal mage pulled Constantine down for a kiss, humming into the embrace as he tugged her closer. 

The stool creaked under their weight and Zatanna rested her back against the table’s edge. She let out a hum as his pen rolled to hit against the uncapped ceramic and whispered into their kiss, “Topkni, yats thgirpu.” 

Sensing her next words before she spoke them, he murmured, “I’ll try not to get into too much trouble.” 

Zatanna’s eyes fluttered open, “Are you still attempting those summonings? With the king’s paranoia I’d rather we keep _any_ hint of witchcraft out of sight.” 

“You really think Bruce would--”

“His children and their associates are _far_ more open to magic, but the rest of the country’s commons may not agree.” Zee gave him a strained smile, lightly nudging him back so she could stand. Serious, her eyes bored into his as she stood at her full height, nearly as tall as he was, “We don’t need a hunt on our hides.”

He snorted and leaned down for another kiss. She eagerly accepted, some of the tension leaving her shoulders as she sunk into his warmth. Constantine’s quiet reminder against her lips was like a splash of cold water, “You’re the royal advisor. You’re safe regardless.”

“But you won’t be.”

Her words came out so quick his eyes opened. Zatanna bit her lip as they stared at each other and the blond pressed his forehead to hers. Constantine’s voice was light even though his eyes were serious, “Is this your way of saying you _care_ about me, Lady Zatara?”

Their noses brushed and they met for an impossibly quick peck, their lips barely touching. One of his hands came up to fiddle with her hair and she spoke, “Just stay safe. The king knows better than to spy on Shadowcrest, but with paranoia comes the exceeding of bounds.”

“Poetic,” Constantine murmured, leaning down to kiss her again. He slowly nodded as he pulled away an inch, “But I promise I’ll keep as low as the portals will afford.”

He let out a sigh as she ran her hands through his hair, bringing him down for another kiss, “Thank you.”

\--

Summonings weren’t as difficult as the magically uninclined would assume. A bit more effort than simply lighting some candles under a full moon and chanting a phrase or two that any farmchild had heard before, but not nearly as intense as the anti-magic community believed. 

Less shrouded human sacrifice in a salt circle, more hallucinogenic herbsticks burned over a meticulously crafted rune. 

Constantine cursed under his breath as he went over his work, that rarely-felt gnaw of uncertainty knotting in his stomach. This wasn’t necessarily _witchcraft_ in the way that the King was worried about, but he _was_ trying to reach a rather malevolent spirit that was similar to the one haunting the old asylum. The only problem was that Gotham was a cemetery disguised as a country, filled to the brim with magical, otherworldly forces that neither he nor Zatanna could even begin to stand up against if anything went horribly wrong.

That thought made him grab at the rosary near his side and, shrugging, he placed it around his neck. Not the most holy thing to do, but doing a spell like _this_ required both hands. The Englishman _knew_ he should wait until his love returned, but he couldn’t. Lady Zatara would be at least a fortnight until King Bruce was satisfied that his land was as protected as could be, and this window, this perfect alignment of the moon and constellations wouldn’t be seen again for months. 

Taking a deep breath, he finishing carving the rune onto the driftwood. A bird was whittled into the very center and, checking one last time, Constantine grabbed the lit candle and set the wood’s corners alight. Quietly, he tilted the candle, pushing nine drops of wax and some of the wick’s ashes into the bird as he murmured the words, “Azarath, mentrion, zinthos.”

Constantine’s face stayed stoic as the shadows shifted around him, flickering the candle so hard it nearly snuffed out. The curtains fluttered, briefly taking away the light of the moon and bathing the room in darkness. In that dark the wax moved, arranging the ash into a gnarled rendition of the letter S.

The mystic’s brows furrowed at the sight but he didn’t take his gaze from the rune. Blue eyes narrowed as the air got heavier and the shadows overtook everything around him. His vision dimmed and Constantine stumbled back, landing flat on his bottom as a sharp blast of smoke erupted from the driftwood, filling the room. 

A small cough met his ears and John quickly scrambled up to his feet, blue eyes widening as the smoke swirled in on itself, manifesting in the form of a _child_. 

The little girl blinked the smoke out of her face, her eyes changing from eerily dark crimson to a more human gray in an instant. She blearily looked up at him, her breath catching in her throat as she took in her surroundings. Constantine stood as the child --the _demon_ that he had just summoned, he reminded himself-- rubbed at her eyes and curled in on herself. 

Her confusion was as obvious as his own and she narrowed her eyes at him. John bit the inside of his cheek as the shadows crept around her, dangerous and protective as the girl tried to figure out what was going on. Her brows furrowed, “Who are you?”

Oh, _thank the Heavens_ she knew English. Crouching down, he calmly introduced, “I’m Constantine. John, if you’d like.”

Softly rubbing the rosary around his neck, he watched as she shifted back. Obviously uncomfortable, her messy bangs fell to the side and his eyes widened at the sight of a red pyrope in her forehead, surrounded by a wine-stained mark in the contorted shape of an S.

“Son of a bitch,” He muttered to himself. Quickly making up his mind now that he knew this was no mistake, John tossed the rosary aside. When the tiny demoness relaxed, he crouched again and asked, “Are you alright?”

When she only nodded once navy eyes flicked to what was left of the ashen driftwood. The Englishman rubbed at his jaw, “I’m not sure you’re who I planned on summoning.”

He gave her a hesitant smile, his mind racing behind his eyes. Raven silently appraised him and they stared at each other in silence for a long moment, then John’s shoulders dropped an inch. He ran a hand through his hair and sat on the ground, mimicking her cross-legged position. Wondering _how_ he’d get out of this mess he decided to get to the point of figuring out where his summoning went wrong, “But you’re here now. You have a name?”

Immediately, the caw of a bird sounded above Shadowcrest, murderous and haunting as it discovered what a snake had done to its eggs. Constantine jumped at the jarring sound, inadvertently moving his gaze up to the ceiling. Blinking again, wide gray eyes didn’t stray from his face as the girl plainly spoke, “I’m Raven.”

“Constantine.”

Her head tilted to the side, “You already said that.” There was a question in the back of her statement and he shrugged, getting to the point of things, “You threw a bit of a cobblestone in my plans, Luv. I thought I was going to be meeting a spirit tonight.” 

The Englishman pointed to what was left of the driftwood, “But you’re a demon. Can you tell me why that rune became your symbol?” Raven’s face wasn’t _nervous_ at his prying but she shifted uncomfortably again. He just barely heard the rumble of her stomach with the movement and John gave her a lazy smile, trying to be as calming as possible as he reminded himself that she was a _child_ , “Maybe over a cup of tea?”

Raven squinted at him for a moment, then nodded. 

She was quiet as he led them to the kitchen and didn’t speak again until settled at the table. Raven rubbed the cold ceramic with her thumbs as Constantine prepared two identical cups, noticing but not acknowledging how he refused to put his back to her. 

Gray eyes watched, mesmerized, as he poured the tea and the steam swirled up into her face. Her hands wrapped around the mug and as the heat sunk into her fingers she sighed at the temperature, the tiniest amount of tension leaving her shoulders. Raven waited until Constantine took a sip to try her own drink, her eyes lighting up at the taste.

The blond set some bread, butter and honey on the table and sat across from her, expectant but not pushy. In the incredibly short time she’d known him that seemed to be a habit, so Raven decided he was alright enough. 

“The spirits here are very weak,” She quietly explained. With the tea in her hand the girl seemed calmer, but not by much. Taking another small sip, she added, “There’s so many that none of them can get really powerful.” 

“Besides the one at the asylum?”

The demon nodded, “Most people who die there get put in and then stay around cemeteries, but she’s stuck to the actual building.” Raven narrowed her eyes as she dipped a finger in the butter, cautiously trying the food. The corners of John’s mouth twitched but he didn’t speak as she blanched at the taste. Shaking her head, the girl shrugged, “I don’t know how, but she’s the only one who really haunts there.”

Finally Constantine spoke up, “And _how_ do you know all of this? I’d imagine you must be important.”

Raven nodded, her weak smile not meeting her eyes, “I’m not as strong as my dad, but I’m better than the rest of them.” She hid her face with another sip of tea, afraid to say too much. But the criticisms and worries she had endured in her life so far wouldn’t be silenced and she felt that this John man deserved to know, “Even if I’m still really young right now.”

Constantine shifted at her words. She could tell he wanted to know more; he knew enough of the immortal world already to know that neither demons nor spirits aged and his curiosity about _that_ was plain on his face. He stifled the topic but locked it away for later, softly urging her in a different direction, “Your father?” 

“I’m a cambion.” Raven kept her gaze on the bread as she ripped a piece of crust and dipped it in the honey, her words slipping out quickly, “My mother was human. She wasn’t _really_ a witch but close enough to one.”

Her whole demeanor tensed at the topic and John decided not to press on just who her father was just yet. Instead, he brought his mug to his lips. The words slipped out of him casually, as if they were merely discussing the weather, “Some people put honey in their tea.”

Gray eyes shot to his face and he shrugged a shoulder, “And most put butter --that yellowish white stuff-- on the bread.” Raven considered the food for a moment and Constantine set his mug down, “May I?”

She grabbed her mug with both hands and meekly nodded, curiously and carefully watching as he fixed her food. The Englishman lifted the spoonful of honey and dropped some in his own drink; he aimed a small smile the girl’s way as she timidly pushed her cup to the center of the table. 

A string of honey landed on her hand and she tried it, eyes brightening in a move so wonderfully childish it hurt. Raven curiously sniffed her tea and Constantine nervously drummed his fingers on the table. Something about this girl called to him and he knew what he _wanted_ to do, as well as what he _should_ do. 

The thought of Zatanna’s reaction kept him quiet as they ate the snack in silence. When the mystic stood to wash the dishes he couldn’t help but glance back at Raven. Bread in hand, she was happily munching away as she swung her legs, practically humming to herself as she got used to the world he had summoned her into. 

A world that was endlessly more forgiving than the one she must have known. 

Constantine cleared his throat, “Raven.”

The demoness let out a hum as she turned to him, her whole face curious. Curious at this world, curious at _why_ he was being so nice, curious at all the thrum of magic in the air, curious at what she had yet to learn. 

Curious to all that he and Zatanna could teach her.

John rolled his jaw and met the girl’s gaze. He knew he should talk to Zatanna first, but he had to make sure that Raven knew, “If you’d like to stay, you can.”

Raven blinked once, twice. Her tiny fingers pressed against the bread and she whispered, “Really?”

His heart broke at the guarded look on her face but he aimed a smile her way, “Of course. I promise.”

He was an _idiot._

Zatanna obviously agreed. Her face had been as vehement as her words when she’d first arrived back at her home and felt the new presence of magic; she hadn’t bothered to hide her anger as she laid her eyes on Raven; then, the horror was plain as day as she noted the look on her lover’s face. 

The mage shook her head, a hand sliding against her temple in disbelief that this he was taking this with even one sliver of seriousness, “No. Absolutely not!”

“She’s just a child!”

“A _demon_ child,” Zatanna hissed back. “One that’s half-witch, too!”

Her sapphire eyes flicked to Raven, a vein in her head twitching at the way the girl neatly hid behind John’s legs. A sight that would’ve made her smile in most circumstances but now only an incredulous laugh bubbled out of Zatanna. It morphed into a groan as she rubbed her temples, “Just look at her! Demon's mark as clear as day.”

“It’s been lightening up, actually.” Constantine touched the top of Raven’s head once then moved closer to his beloved, “Look, Zatanna…”

The mystic shook her head. Her voice was firm, “We have to send her back.”

“I won’t.”

Her eyes rolled in disbelief, “John--”

Constantine cut her off, “She’s staying with me.”

He felt as Raven’s fingers wrapped around his hand and watched as Zatanna’s brows furrowed at his words. The Englishman met his love’s stare, his stomach knotted with worry, “Whether we stay here or not, I’m not sending her back there, Zatanna. I--”

John rolled his bottom lip between his teeth, shoulders somehow slumping and straightening all at once, “I can’t.”

Zatanna ran a hand through her hair, her gaze rapidly flicking between the two. Her heart twisted at the resolve in his face and the hope on the girl’s features but they didn’t fathom the difficulties they would face. The mage let out a sigh and stepped closer to Constantine, her stare boring into his, “Do you understand how dangerous this is?” 

His mouth opened to argue but Zatanna didn’t let him. She pressed on, “I mean, _truly_ , completely understand that they could’ve apprehended you the second she appeared? And with these _witch hunters_ \--” She all but spat the name out. Shaking her head, she reminded, “We can’t afford to bring any more attention to ourselves than we already have.”

Zatanna would never say that her words were a _beg_ , but they were. Raven’s magic mingled with John’s and her own _so well_ , as if she’d been a part of Shadowcrest forever. But they couldn’t take her in. They just couldn’t… 

John recognized the resolution on her face and reached for her. “Please…” He snatched her wrist before she could turn away, sliding his fingers down until they entangled with hers. His voice cracked, desperately appealing to the tiny crack in the resistance in her eyes, “ _Please_ , Zatanna…”

“You know I can’t--”

“She’s _mine_ , Darling.”

Zatanna tugged her hand back, angrily gesturing to the shadows that sought the girl’s every step, “She’s a _witch_. A demon!”

His cerulean eyes were hopeful, “Doesn’t mean she can’t be a Constantine too.”

A haggard sigh escaped her lungs, “ _Why_ , John? Bruce is sending advisors to check on how our potions are going, they’ll be here in a few days. If they see that we’re hoarding her--” She cut herself off, her eyes closing as she tried to compose herself. Zatanna crossed her arms over her chest, her eyes dark as she went over all the danger this decision could bring them. She let out another rough sigh, her gaze not leaving his face, “I can’t lose you.”

Constantine wilted at her look but turned to the small girl at his side. He weakly motioned to her again, his voice resolute, “I can’t lose her.”

“You’ve known her for a fortnight! Less than that, actually.” Even with how tired her face was everything about Zatanna screamed of her exasperation, of her concern about their future. Her voice went up half a pitch as she besought him one last time to reconsider, “Shadowcrest or not, my name won’t save us if anyone finds out what she is! You could--”

Zatanna’s fingers curled into fists as she forced the all-too-real possibility out into the air, “You could _die_ trying to keep her here, Darling. I don’t know if I can risk that.” Raven shifted at the idea but neither adult paid her any mind. 

He took another step forward, “I know that I can.” Constantine grabbed her hand and brought her knuckles to his lips, “And I don’t expect you to put yourself in danger for her.”

Raven aimed an awkward smile as Zatanna’s gaze settled on her for a long moment. The advisor observed how human the girl appeared, thought about how easy it would be to shield her gem and Scath’s mark with her hair. She rolled her jaw, “You _do_ realize how unbelievably foolish this is, don’t you?”

The sorcerer’s lips split in a grin, “Didn’t you say that when I first started courting you?”

A smile threatened to quirk her lips up and Raven moved closer at the sight. The demoness curled around John’s legs again, carefully trying to read their expressions. She didn’t have much experience in the subtleties of human interaction but Zatanna seemed to be… opening up? At least to the idea of her being around.

Stoic as she tried to be, Raven couldn’t keep her emotions off her face as she pressed her cheek to the rough cloth of Constantine’s pants. The little girl looked so _hopeful_ yet so cautious, as if preparing to be rejected but clinging to the promises that John must have avowed to her. Something in the sight pulled at Zatanna and another quiet sigh slipped out. 

She pulled her hand from John’s and, hiking up her skirts, the woman crouched down until she and Raven were practically nose to nose. The girl kept her back straight, although she fiddled with the rings that she wore. Obviously full of magic, the silver just barely hung around the last knuckle of her thumb and gleamed in sync with the pyrope in her forehead. 

Despite her anger at the situation, Zatanna softened at the anxiety on the witch’s face. She didn’t even know if she could trust some of her fellow mages with a task as important as this, but Constantine seemed to _trust_ Raven, and that was enough for her.

It had to be. 

Zatanna let out a sigh and held out her hands, waiting until the girl placed their palms together to speak, “Raven.” 

Raven nodded, reluctant when she couldn’t tell what the mystic was thinking. The woman ran a tongue over her teeth and stared into gray eyes, “This is serious business. There are people who… would prefer not to live in a world with magic beings. John and I can hide you, but if you stay now, here, you might never be able to go back.”

The girl’s head shook, her fingers pressing against Zatanna’s, “I don’t want to ever go back there.”

That was the most adamant the cambion had shown her feelings yet. Her worry about going back to wherever _there_ really was filled the room and the mystics’ hearts; Zatanna didn’t react to the pained look that flickered across Constantine’s face, her own eyes closing as she made up her mind. 

She squeezed Raven’s hands, “Then it’s settled. You’ll stay here.”

Wide, stunned graphite eyes flicked from Zatanna to John and back again, her breath hitching in her throat. Raven looked as if she had been awaiting the rug pulled out under her feet and, when she stayed stable, couldn’t keep the shock from flowing through her regardless. The demoness let out a flabbergasted giggle, a sincere smile lighting up her face for the first time since she’d been summoned, “With you?”

Constantine grinned and crouched down next to them, “With us.”

“It’ll be… difficult,” Zatanna hummed out. Her eyes closed as she took in a quiet breath, visibly bracing herself as she thought her words over. Raven flushed under her gaze as the mage added, “And you’ll have to be a big girl whenever people ask questions.” 

She glanced at Constantine from the corner of her eye, “We’ll train you, of course.” A thin smile split her lips, “For the questions and with magic. We--” Zatanna stopped, biting the inside of her cheek. Her hands squeezed Raven’s and when her pause reached five seconds John kissed her temple. 

At the girl’s curiosity in the air and the sorcerer’s warmth against her side the words rushed out, “ _I_ want you to have someplace you belong, Raven. I hope Shadowcrest can be that place.”

The demoness’ face lit up and she nodded eagerly, her hair bouncing as she whispered back, “So do I.”


	3. The Meeting

Raven had fallen into life at Shadowcrest as well as she could. Constantine had deflected any and all questions about her heritage, simply shrugging that he’d travelled the world prior to stumbling upon Shadowcrest and that it’d finally caught up to him. Every time he did so Zatanna would pat his arm and exasperatedly roll her eyes, the stuffy decorum of their time stopping any further prying.

In fact, that very same decorum led to some of the nobles attempting to one-up Zatanna’s charity. Many offered their servants’ help with child-rearing tips; the king even put in some of the heirs’ old clothing for Raven to wear as she aged (and given how _fast_ bursts of magic could turn cloth into frayed rags, the impromptu family certainly appreciated it).

And through the years, while Raven had no doubt that Zatanna loved her, she hesitated over whether or not the mystic ever regretted her decision all those years ago. Lady Zatara and Constantine were bound by everything but marriage, but the arguments were still there. They tried to keep her naive of them, but the demoness always heard the annoyed, exasperated words as if they were hissed right above her head. Fights about magic ( _her_ magic), about incorrectly set potions ( _her_ potions), about certain missteps causing suspicion during their visits to the king’s manor ( _her_ missteps).

Raven had gotten used to them. 

Despite what may seem obvious the quiet, happy moments were some of the worst. Those bits of solace that she clung to whenever her faux parents got into another nighttime fight about magic and her heritage.

Fights that only seemed to escalate as that hesitant wave of suspicion gave way to a full-blown witch hunt throughout Gotham and the rest of Europe. 

Zatanna’s status among the king’s cabinet and Raven’s friendship with the heirs to the throne gave them the closest thing to immunity, but they had faced and somehow avoided most of the close calls. Now, as a _woman_ (and she _was_ one in all matters of the title, even if Constantine balked at the prospect as soon as they celebrated her second decade not even a full moon ago), she may have participated in their public debates in favor of magic and private plans for escape if fate didn’t go their way, but she didn’t need to hear the arguments anymore. She could walk away during their fights; no more curling up in a ball with her hands pressed over her ears, no more pretending to be asleep when John poked his head in to check up on her after any particularly loud disagreements, no more skipping around the furthest corners of Shadowcrest, listening to the birds chirp and hoping they could drown out the not-so-faraway sound of shouting. 

Raven was free from the oppressing tension of their current fight now, and as the lingering track of her adoptive parents’ voices faded in the denseness of the forest, she heard the trickle of water. It was loud compared to the sound of leaves shifting in the barely-there wind. The witch knew that the river was at least a quarter mark’s walk away, so she followed the sound deeper inside. 

Smiling as she passed an oak tree that held the _best_ knot for reading a novel in, Raven blinked as she came unto a clearing. One she didn’t recognize, but she could still peek the very top of Shadowcrest if she climbed a tree, so the empath paid the unfamiliarity no mind. 

Not three steps in she nearly tumbled down, tripping on a pile of speckled pebbles. Her breath caught as she just barely regained her balance, her eyes widening at the sight of clear water and a mossy undergrowth. Shaking her shoulders and nodding to herself, she figured she must have found her way to one of the creeks that diverted off from Gotham River. Odd that she’d never discovered it until now, especially with how often her studies and her adventures with the royal heirs led them to the forests; shaking the thought away, Raven crouched down and dipped a finger in the stream, one brow arching at how slow the water flowed. 

If she didn’t know any better, she’d have thought it a puddle. 

Her fingers flexed as her rings seemed to raise in temperature, tingling just a few degrees hotter than her skin. Rubbing at the gem in her head, Raven furrowed her brows as she stared at her murky reflection. Her pyrope throbbed in tune to the puddle’s miniscule waves and Raven looked up as the birds went quiet. Gray eyes narrowed as she glanced around at the leafy trees, free from all nests even in the height of spring. 

No birdsongs filled the air, no wind rustled the leaves, even the meager stream halted. Her mouth curled down in a frown and she let out a high-pitched whistle, waiting for a robin to respond. 

Rubbing the inside of the rings that adorned her middle fingers as she was left unanswered, Raven jumped over the stream and hurried to the pine that grew on the opposite end of the clearing, keeping an eye on the water as she went. Pale hands found a knot on the tree's trunk and she began climbing, easily reaching the lowest rung of branches in just a few seconds. 

Situating herself atop the sturdiest branch on that level Raven looked to where Shadowcrest lay, her lips opening in a trembling gasp at how _far_ her home was. The pointed roof was merely a speck from her position; at least a day and a half’s travel away, if not two. Her grip faltered and she nearly fell, a curse slipping out as she held her weight and readjusted herself closer to the trunk. 

The demoness took a deep breath and glanced down at the stream, water pooling not even a stride away from where the pine’s base began. 

She took another breath, trying to stay rational in the irrationality she found herself in. Air in through the nostrils, out through the mouth. Her mantra soon followed, the quiet “Azarath. Mentrion. Zinthos” calming in the foreignness of this clearing. Raven closed her eyes as she took in another breath, not seeing as her rings suddenly glowed white. 

It shined through her lids and her breath caught as magic coursed through her veins, pure and evil and stronger than anything she’d ever willingly tampered with before. There was a spark of familiarity in the promise of chaos, though she fought to avoid embracing it. More a lesson from being raised by her parents; her instincts screamed at her to do the opposite but she refused. 

The mystic tried to say her mantra again but was cut off by _heat_.

Her heart in her throat, Raven’s mouth stretched open in a scream as the metal abruptly burned her fingers and the jewel in her forehead let out a burst of light. The cry morphed into a pained sob as something _heavy_ dropped onto her back and she toppled, falling down and breaking thin branches before she came to a thudding, painful stop in the stagnant water. The birds scattered up from their nests at her shout, cawing loudly as they flew over Shadowcrest. Zatanna and Constantine turned to the forest at the commotion, their hearts stopping when they spotted no sign of their daughter nearby. 

Under the pine’s shade, unfocused gray eyes weakly shut at the rush of water in her ears and Raven violently shuddered, passing out as that surge of magic finally left her senses. She paid no mind to the flowing water that carried over her legs or the uncomfortable angle her torso bent to accommodate the weight that rested on her side.

Next to her, the mass of metal blearily moved its face towards the sky and groaned. 

\--

Nothing but darkness. 

There was that persistent crackling of a wick burning and the scent of jasmine. The muggy sensation of tea steam floating over and clinging onto her skin. Her fingers curled into the fabric that she laid on. The fibers were scratchy, just like the homemade hemp blankets that King Terrance had his maids sew, but soft and perfumed from use, well worn from years of cold weather. 

_Where was she?_

Her arm twitched in an attempt to find her bearing, pausing at the jolt of pain in her arm. Not a total break, but at least a fracture. The blankets shifted under her tremble and a voice hastily rasped out, “Don’t move.” 

Carrie went still at the quiet command, listening as intently as she could the other person moved around. Her muscles tensed at the sound of a chair scraping the floor then relaxed at the soft _clink!_ of a cup being set on something wooden and the quiet splash of liquid being poured in. 

The side of the bed dipped as the owner of the mystery voice sat down. Carrie cracked her eyes open, wincing and immediately snapping them shut at the bright light. Her face softened as a hand brushed her bangs off her forehead and then hovered over her face, blocking the sun's muted rays. The knight shifted as the scent of tea deepened and her impromptu nurse murmured, “It’s tea. Drink up.” 

The rim of a cup was pressed to her lips. The smell of ginger and honey filled her nose as the unknown woman’s voice filled her ears, “It’s a bit warm, but shouldn’t be too hot.”

Carrie did as she commanded. A thumb tenderly ran over her brow and the voice continued, “The curtains are open so I’m going to start lifting my hand, alright? I need to make sure your eyes are responsive.”

When the redhead nodded her palm lifted a hair, waiting until Carrie let out a soft hum to lift her hand a half-inch higher. As she slowly got adjusted to the light all the Robin saw was blurriness. The blob that was her nurse leaned over her and then warm fingers traced around her eyes, skipping over her skin as they carefully checked that nothing was wrong. 

Visor or not, Carrie could spot the relief in the woman’s body language as she stood again. An incredibly fuzzy emerald gaze followed her as she lit a pair of candles and picked up a thin bundle of wires. The woman easily popped two squares into those wires and lifted her shawl to clean them. She sat down next to Carrie on the bed, quietly humming out, “Besides the fracture in your forearm you seem to be healthy.” 

“Oh,” Carrie squinted at her but the lady didn’t look up from her cleaning the glass; instead, she glanced at the pained squint of the redhead’s eyes and merely hummed out a command, “Sniatruc, tuhs.”

Green eyes narrowed as the room was bathed in the candles’ light, the curtains movement of their own accord confirming any suspicion. While Carrie personally thought the witch hunts and trials were ridiculous (and rolled her eyes alongside Terrance when his advisors contradicted themselves on the necessary nature of magic in their reports), Gotham was supposed to be free of any magical presence that weren’t dragons. 

Before she could think to ask, the woman held up the remains of Carrie’s visor. “Here,” The presumed witch fumbled with the sides, carefully perching the newly framed glasses atop the fighter’s freckled nose, “The screen split in two when you landed so I sanded them down.”

Carrie blinked as her nurse’s blurry form finally came into view. Her eyes widened and she shrunk back a bit, unprepared at how _attractive_ she was. If the generals and all her childhood teachers were to be believed, the last of the witches were supposed to be gnarled, hunched over cave-dwellers. Ghastly, terrifying sorceresses who could stop their enemies dead as quick as Medusa and twice as effortlessly.

This one was… far too beautiful for Carrie to reconcile with her preconceived assumptions, let alone be able to function to the proper standards that a knight of her status should. 

Gray eyes flicked over her face and the witch’s head tilted to the side at the redhead’s open-mouthed stare. After a moment she sat straighter, her braid bumping her back as she folded her hands in her lap and softly introduced, “I’m Raven.”

That seemed to get the cavalier’s brain working again. She stiffly nodded, the beginnings of a flush starting to curl her neck, “Carrie.” 

Raven’s eyes flicked to the woman’s armor, the charred chainmail carefully balanced atop a stool near the door frame. She took the cup back from Carrie’s hands, watching her carefully. Her eyes were responsive, her breathing normal, almost everything checked out. And that _almost_ was necessary, because even if the king and his sole princess were slowly breaking down the country’s reservations towards women fighting in the divisions none of the few so far had yet to reach that high in rank. 

But Carrie was obviously not the case. Taking a breath, Raven quietly commented, “You are a knight?”

Carrie didn’t answer her question. Instead, she forced her gaze away from Raven and looked around the room, her fingers twitching restlessly at the outdated insignia that laid above the door. “Where am I?”

The mystic licked her lips at the avoidance. Still, she turned her head as she looked around the small room, “We’re in one of the spare rooms at Shadowcrest. Just half a day’s travel from the King's Manor.” 

Emerald eyes squeezed shut at the name. Raven placed a hand on the freckled arm not contained in a sling and the words slipped out of Carrie, each syllable as fast as her thundering heart, “Who is your king?”

The mage’s nails softly drummed over the warmth of her skin, confused at the panic that was blatant on the knight’s face. This Carrie woman certainly _appeared_ to be a Gothamite, especially with the bat crest etched so brilliantly on her foreignly crafted armor. Pursing her lips, Raven tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, “King Bruce rules the land.”

Carrie violently trembled at the news, her eyes wide and staring up at the ceiling. She sunk into the blankets, slowly and forcefully blinking as she tried to make sense of everything. _Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no._

Raven’s fingers skimmed down to grab her hand. Her thumb rubbed along the lines of Carrie’s palm, “What’s wrong?”

Before her panic could consume her any further, Carrie intertwined her suddenly clammy hands with Raven’s warm ones. She took a moment to focus on the mage’s heartbeat through the pulse in her wrist, trying to match her breathing. Still, her voice wavered as she whispered, “What year is it?”

Raven’s retort was immediate, “What year do you think it is?” Her jaw was set but she didn’t look scared. No, the only thing she did was fiddle with the ring on her free hand as she brushed aside some loose hair, “Because we probably have different answers.”

A smart one, she was. Carrie ignored the all-too-deep gray gaze boring into her; instead, the knight turned her attention back to the shawl Raven wore and the insignia on the wall. Carrie would readily admit to _never_ paying attention during history lessons that didn't involve updates to fighting styles (or how the evolution of seeing eye-glasses coincided with an advancement in the quality of horse riding equipment, but that was for another day). But she did remember some tidbits.

Like the decades-long struggle over military goals between Prince Jason and Princess Cassandra. The birth of Princess Mar'i bringing about not only peace between Gotham and Tamaran, but the speedy advancement of husbandry and mountaineering techniques to both. And most importantly, that _that_ particular shade of blue dye had yet to be reissued to _anyone_ not of royal blood since King Damian mourned his eldest brother’s death; _Heavens above_ , she’d heard enough of Terrance’s musings about whether he should pull away from his great-uncle’s decree to recite the exact order by heart.

Carrie rolled her jaw, “What happened?”

Raven didn’t answer. For a long moment she thought over the shameless pivot in conversation, going over her options. They stared at each other for another minute before the silence got to Carrie. She fidgeted, turning her face before Raven could get a good look at her flushed cheeks, “I don’t remember much of _how_ I got here.” 

The flush darkened as she remembered the sun on her face and the softness that must have been her _landing_ on the witch. Physically shaking her thoughts away, Carrie’s tongue flicked out to wet her lips, her sights zeroing in on the curtains again, “But it was magic, right?”

Another pause. This time Raven was the one to turn her face away. Her shoulders slumped as she visibly thought over her words and then she turned back to Carrie. At the piercing gaze on her the mystic closed her eyes and sighed, her thumbs rolling against the silver of her rings, “That’s correct.” 

Pewter eyes met Carrie’s and Raven flexed her fingers, curling them into and out of a fist. A timid curl made its way to her lips, not quite a smile but not quite a frown, “I believe that whatever happened to you, the magic used ended up _connecting_ with my own.” 

Raven held her palms out and stared at her hands, knowing that her rings were covering the still-healing burns that marred her skin. She glanced at Carrie, “I’ve traveled through portals between… physical, unearthly dimensions before, but you must have gone through _time_.”

Her eyes brightened with curiosity, although there was some sadness and a lot of concern behind them, “Unfortunately I’m not familiar with those spells, or even time travel, but I’ll try to help to the best of my abilities.” The knight was looking overwhelmed at the news and she softly smiled at Carrie, reaching out to touch her hand again, “It might take a while, but we can get you back to whatever age you come from."

Green eyes flicked from the mystic’s face to their touching hands and back up again. Carrie aimed what was a genuine (but must have looked _incredibly_ awkward) grin back. She wanted to rub at her neck, to do _anything_ besides fall into the art that was the soft curve of Raven’s lips, but she really didn’t want to stop the warm tingle that was their fingers brushing together. 

The soldier could only shrug as she tried to keep her blush at bay, "I’m a century or so in the future. But at least I've got good company for now."

Raven hummed at the information. She glanced at the wall’s current insignia that kept taking Carrie’s attention, but decided it was best that she didn’t know for now. Instead, she thought of the suspicion towards magic that the Church and the commoners were falling prey to; certainly a century wouldn’t be enough time for the idea to recede. She ran a tongue over her teeth, "You don't seem too worried about having to work with magic."

“Yeah, well,” Carrie finally ran a hand through her hair, a flustered smile curling her lips, “I don’t see a lot of witches, if any, back home. None _this_ beautiful at least.” 

Raven paused, her cheeks starting to burn at the compliment. Carrie seemed to realize what she had (impulsively, so very, _very_ impulsively) said and faltered, her mouth snapping shut for only a second before she tried to apologize, “Sorry, I-uh. I didn’t mean-- well I _did_ , I just didn’t want to put you on the spot or anything and--”

Her flurry of words were cut off as the witch softly touched her shoulder, nudging her back down on the covers that she didn’t realize she was lifting herself out of. Raven’s blush was creeping down her neck and she looked bashful if anything, “It’s fine, but please don’t aggravate your arm even more.”

She paused and let her eyes wander the redhead’s darkening face, her smile growing as she reached to trace a tangle of freckles on the knight’s jawline. Carrie went still under her touch, her eyes wide behind her glasses. “But for the record,” Raven bit the inside of her cheek as her hand cupped Carrie’s cheek, “You’re _by far_ the handsomest knight I’ve yet to ever meet.”

They stared at each other for a heartbeat then Raven averted her gaze. She took a second to compose herself, trying to focus more on the bags under Carrie’s eyes and not the way the glass made those emerald irises shine like jewels. The mage didn’t move her hand as she added, “Now please, you need to get some more sleep. I’ll wake you for dinner.” 

A pale thumb ran over freckled cheeks. If asked, Raven would only admit to checking for any lacerations. But Carrie stayed quiet at the caress and the demoness quietly spoke into the air, “My parents are talented with magic as well. We can… talk about your situation then. Alright?”

Carrie nodded as she bit back a coo, her eyes fluttering shut as she melted into Raven’s hand. The witch seemed at a loss at her reaction, the words slipping out before she could think better of them, “Perhaps we may do even more than talk.”

Her words registered to them both in an instant; her brows jumped as high as Carrie’s and Raven rushed to cover, “But for now, you should rest up.” She straightened her posture and tilted her chin to the table beside the bed, “There’s still some more chamomile if you’d like.”

Another beat and then the mage stood, regretfully letting go of Carrie as she held her shawl around herself. Her head ducked at the (dare she say) longing look on the soldier’s face, “I’ll see you in a few hours then, Carrie.”

Before she could turn away Carrie reached her hand up and Raven held it, gray eyes going wide as the knight pulled her limb to kiss her knuckles. She could only hope that the blush that graced the time traveller’s cheeks was as hard as the one on her own. 

Green eyes observed her from behind the visor’s tinted glass and Raven’s heart fluttered in her chest, “I’m looking forward to it, Raven.”


	4. The Decision

Carrie was already sitting up when she quietly opened the door. 

The knight was bare in just her underdressings as she rolled her shoulder, relief practically flowing off her when she didn’t feel anything wrong with her dominant arm. Past or not, Carrie was acutely aware that she’d need to be able to defend herself and a sigh escaped her at the thought. 

Raven kept her stare on the soldier’s face, taking a second to note the reluctance that briefly crossed Carrie’s features before she knocked against the door. The time traveller jumped, her eyes shooting to Raven in surprise. At the sight of the witch that surprise melted away to a certain unknown sort of joy and Carrie raised her hand in greeting. 

Steeling her nerves, the mystic softly smiled back as she closed the door behind her. Gray eyes strove to stay on the fighter’s face, but she couldn’t keep the heat from curling up her neck as Carrie sat in front of her, her face as readable as any scroll. Raven cleared her throat, “How’re you feeling?” 

“Pretty good, all things considered.” The redhead lifted her good arm, motioning to the claw-marks that the last dragon had left on her stomach. They weren’t bleeding, but the area was an angry red that was calming to a bruise, “Did you want to check these?”

Carrie looked up at the silence that was her answer, tilting her head as she got a view of the blush that had completely engulfed the mystic’s face. A crimson brow arched, “Something wrong?”

Raven’s lips pursed. She opened her mouth as if to speak, thought better of herself, closed it and then glanced to the side, rubbing the back of her arm. “Uh, it’s just,” Raven motioned to her state of undress. Her smile was not quite awkward, but certainly abashed, “Not that I don’t mind, but I feel this time may be a bit more… prudish? When it comes to healings.”

Carrie tilted her head in confusion and the mage brought her braid to her front, fiddling with the twine at the end, “I’m unsure of how the military’s doctors work but healing, even for getting simple bandages, is usually done under a sheet. This,” The knight watched as Raven gestured to her state of undress again, taking an odd, proud sort of satisfaction in the way her gray eyes flicked over her and the pale cheeks erupted into another shade darker. 

Raven shook her head, trying and failing to calm her flush, “This is more of a type of… courting.” 

Carrie felt the knot in her stomach go taut at the news, a bloom of horror in her chest at the thought that she’d messed everything up; who knew how blatant her flirting could be seen nowadays. For once, she wished her hair was long enough to cover her face but the witch obviously didn’t notice, so interested was she in fiddling with her rings and not getting caught staring at the freckled body before her. Raven cleared her throat, her voice a rasp in the quiet that fell upon them, “Perhaps a remarkably blunt way of courting, but one nonetheless.”

The redhead laid her hands over her face, muffling a groan. The sight made Raven’s words come out a tinge faster and she stepped a stride closer, “Not that I wouldn’t accept! But, um, I assumed you just needed to be healed--”

The knight cut her words off without thinking, her mumble coming out louder than she intended, “I mean, if the horseshoe fits the cobblestone…" 

A half second of silence filled the room. “I,” The mystic had to take a moment to understand the slang, her mouth snapping shut a second later. 

Carrie’s eyes widened but she tried to keep her face nonchalant as she recognized the words that came out of her; forcing herself to shrug, but knowing that she was failing miserably, the redhead cleared her throat. She scratched at her nape, her mind focusing on how she would need a haircut soon and not on the horribly unsubtle but ridiculously appreciated ways Raven kept glancing at her. 

Raven took in a quiet breath. Carrie watched as she silently mouthed a phrase, the words obscured by the mystic’s hair, and looked back into her face. The knight aimed an awkward smile her way and Raven softly smiled back. Visibly pushing down her nerves as she met Carrie’s gaze, gray eyes flicked to the warrior's bandaged side. She took a step forward, slightly bending at the waist, “Here, let me just…” 

Her words trailed off as she re-adjusted the sling, her fingertips skipping over the bandages and down along a smattering of freckles. The cambion paused, taking in a shaky breath as she let the pads of her thumbs rub over the scratches on Carrie’s stomach. They had been lighter when she'd first patched the redhead up but had deepened with blood and… magic?

Slate eyes shot up to the knight’s face, unable to ignore the shiver that shot through the time traveller. Raven ran a tongue over her teeth, a knot in her stomach as the magic that clung to Carrie's wounds called out to her, “Where did you get these?”

“The last dragon. When it picked me up…” Carrie felt the words leave her as she trailed off into nothing; she didn’t know _what_ to make of the emotions that flashed across Raven’s eyes, let alone the muddle of concern that lingered on the lines of her face. After a second the mage pressed against the wound. The knight closed her eyes at the pressure, forcing her lids open to watch as the rings on Raven’s fingers gleamed in unison with the heat that seared over her scratches. Her gaze flicked to the mystic’s forehead as her bangs fell aside. 

A breath caught in her throat, unrelated to the pain. There, the same gem that made up the pendants’ eyes was settled right between Raven’s temples, clear as day. The cut, the color, even the way light reflected off the little jewel was identical. 

Carrie looked down at the tense, stunned way Raven was rolling her bottom lip between her teeth. The woman seemed more focused on the way her fingertips sparked with crackles of magic as they ran over freckled skin. Raven raised her chin and met Carrie’s gaze, both their faces worried and somewhat guarded. The mage drummed her fingers along the scratches, a minute twitch on her lips as her magic struggled to be released, “Perhaps we should get you dressed and into the dining room.” 

Raven’s face was unreadable as she leaned back, her fingers curling as she took a breath and tried to recenter herself, “My parents need to know about this.” 

Carrie shifted at the dismal tone that crept into her voice and she aimed a tiny smile the time traveller’s way, “They can help. I promise.”

\--

Zatanna silently sat atop Shadowcrest’s roof, methodically picking the short-leafed weeds that grew along the telescope’s base. She kept one eye on her daughter and the other on the horizon, worried that they would be visited by any messengers. She hadn’t been back from the Manor for ten days and King Bruce rarely called upon her help so soon after requests, so she could relax for now.

Well, as much relaxation as one _could_ have while hoarding an apparent time traveller. 

She watched as her lover strolled up to Raven, a pit of guilt forming in her stomach. Her parting words at dinner still rang in her head, but she was _right_. Raven had come when common day magic was merely distrusted. But _now?_ Were anyone to find out a person from the _future_ had travelled through time even the royal family wouldn’t keep the witch hunt from knocking Shadowcrest to the ground and burning all four of them at the stake. 

Zatanna sighed again and placed her head in her hands, trying to think of a solution. She had browsed her family’s library thousands of times over the course of her life, but nothing that laid on those shelves had anything to do with altering anything beyond the current time. A part of her wanted to get up and go searching some more, but the mage couldn’t move. The look on her daughter’s face kept reappearing in her mind. While she may not have had either of their blood, the determination that overtook Raven’s features was identical to the one that Constantine had worn all those years ago. 

The royal advisor bit back a whine and rubbed circles into her temples, knowing that Carrie would be staying regardless of any of her objections, logical as they were. She peeked over her fingers where, down in Shadowcrest’s courtyard, Constantine balanced a tray laden with snacks. 

Bread, butter, honey, and tea might as well be a theme when it came to new arrivals and the sorcerer lightly nudged his shoulder with his daughter’s. Gray eyes slid to him and he gave her a soft smile, “How’s everything, Luv?”

A dull hum was his answer and Raven raised a brow at the tray, her eyes flicking to his face. "Dad?"

Her lips tightened to a line at the bits of emotion that shaped his face and the cambion’s shoulders tensed at the idea of another argument. But, admittedly, she was thrown for a loop when all he said was a simple, "Are you absolutely sure about this?”

When all he got was a blink, Constantine added, his voice softer than before, “You have to know how dangerous it’s gonna be to keep her past--" Blond brows furrowed, “--er, her future from getting out.”

Raven opened her mouth but faltered, hesitating as she looked down at herself. Her father was patient as he waited for her, his sight briefly going to Shadowcrest’s observatory. He knew his love was probably watching and agonizing over what would happen, _especially_ after the way Raven had defended Carrie to them during dinner but he had to be sure. 

Even in the dying sunlight Carrie’s sword glinted as she trained and Raven watched her for a few seconds. Gray eyes wandered from where the dragon’s scars burned magic on her stomach to the way the knight’s face was set as she forced herself to move despite the screaming in her ribs. A small, tender smile came to Raven’s face and she raised her face to her father’s, “I trust her.”

Constantine stared at his daughter, mindlessly wondering if the look of her face was the same one he wore when he first met Zatanna. A grin split his lips, “Beyond us getting her back to her time?”

A second’s hesitation, then the demoness gave a definitive nod. “For as long as she’s in this time, and even--” Raven ran a tongue over her teeth, “--and even after that. I want her to stay here, Dad.”

She seemed to realize what her words could be interpreted as and flushed. Raven shook her head, "She'll be safest in Shadowcrest."

Already knowing this conversation, the Englishman let out a proud chuckle, “And you’ll leave with her if your mother and I feel otherwise.”

Raven obviously felt as his words implied, but from the surprise on her face he could see that she wasn’t at the point of leaving just yet. John watched as his daughter looked down at herself, shyly peeking from Carrie to him and back again as the answer came to her. Remembering the first time she had met her mother, Raven let her shoulders go slack. Her words were teasing despite the awful tangle of emotions that knotted her stomach, “You sure I’m not _actually_ your blood daughter?”

That got her a laugh, “As far as I know.” Constantine nudged her with his shoulder again, urging the tray into her hands. 

His voice was just as calm as it had been her first night in this realm. He tilted his chin towards where Carrie was now practicing drawing her bolt using her sling-wrapped shoulder, “Go to her; I’ll deal with your mother.”

Raven closed her eyes as he pecked her hairline, nodding along as he murmured, “Just be sure to think about the consequences _before_ they get here, alright?" Gray eyes slid open as he sighed out, “It worked out with you, but if she knows history that’s yet to happen we can’t be too cautious about keeping this secret from getting out.”

Pale fingertips thrummed on the tray’s edges. Constantine was remarkably good at holding back his negativity when it threatened to consume him and she couldn’t help but wonder if he was just trying to placate her for the time being. She swallowed the air in her throat and bluntly asked, “Do you really think this’ll work out?”

She nervously met his gaze. The father could see that Raven didn’t even know what ‘this’ was; her and Carrie’s potential relationship, Carrie staying in their time, the hope that none of them would be burned at the stake when the redhead’s existence was discovered… 

But their little family had bounced back from summoning an _actual_ demon before. A tiny smile quirked the corners of his mouth and Constantine pecked her temple again, “I’m sure it will.”

Sapphire eyes went back to the knight and his hand tapped the middle of her back, “Go on, she’s been practicing for almost two marks now. She could use the distraction.” 

Raven seemed to realize the late hour, finally registering how the sunset that lit up their dinner dispute was long gone. Her cheeks flushed as the Englishman winked, “And I’m sure you’re her favorite.”

Chuckling, Raven bit her lip and nodded, straightening her shoulders as she gripped the tray tighter. She let out a breath, “Okay, here I go.”

Constantine watched as she confidently strode towards the clearing. She got all of ten steps before stumbling, a frantically whispered “Staert, t’nod llips!” preventing any mess. Closing his eyes at how her blatant infatuation made her even clumsier than usual, he took in a deep breath through his nostrils in an attempt at biting back his laughter.

Somehow John got his features under control as his daughter glanced at him for reassurance. He gave her a thumbs up and she beamed at him. Nodding to herself again, the mystic called out Carrie’s name, her whole demeanor brightening as the knight turned to her.

The blond watched as Carrie lowered her sword and the two met in the middle of the clearing to talk. He had thankfully forgotten all the horrors of courting at that age but things looked well enough between them; glad that his daughter would seemingly be fine, the sorceror turned his sights towards the observatory. He could just barely make out Zatanna’s hunched over silhouette and sighed, hoping that she was only stewing and not overpicking the weeds. What with spring ending, the birds would need all the shade that they could find.

With one last glance his daughter’s way, Constantine jogged into Shadowcrest and ascended the stairs. His steps slowed as he stepped into the observatory and he aimed a tiny grin at his lover through the glass. The bench was empty and Zee’s shoulders were resting against the thin beam of the seat, her head tilted up to stare at the stars. At the tingle of his stare the mage tiredly blinked at him and John made his way to her side, pressing a quick peck to her temple as he sat in the overgrowth next to her. 

He crossed his legs and leaned an elbow on the bench, “Zatanna.” Her eyes closed at all the unspoken questions in his voice. Questions on how she was feeling, on what she thought their immediate future would shift into, on how _difficult_ this would be to navigate.

When she spoke, the advisor was calm, accepting and vaguely calculating, “Carrie’s staying.” 

Instead of speaking, Constantine simply wrapped an arm around her. Zatanna crossed her arms, leaning until her cheek rested on the softness of his overcoat, “Do you honestly this will end well?”

John’s fingers drummed along her side. He was quiet for a moment then admitted, “Getting her back? Not really.” 

Her face raised and he felt as her gaze bore into the side of his face, “You know that’s not what I was asking.”

The Englishman slowly nodded, a tiny smile threatening his lips as Raven’s laugh bubbled up in the air. Zee buried her face into the side of his chest at the sound and he murmured, “I know.”

\--

Clearing her throat to get Carrie’s attention, Raven tried to keep her smile light as she lifted the tray an inch higher. She didn’t even know if her smile could possibly be anything but awkward, but still she quietly questioned, “How’re you feeling?” 

Raven tilted her head to the side as she peeked a glance at the knight’s stomach, not sure whether the pull in her own gut was from the magic or the muscle definition. Carrie didn’t seem to notice her flushing cheeks; the knight fully sheathed her sword, a heavy huff slipping out of her as she stood upright. 

She rolled a shoulder, breathing through her teeth as her sling pulled up, “Still a bit sore.” 

As she met Raven’s gaze her lips slid into a smile regardless, “Nothing I can’t handle.”

“Well, how about a break?” Emerald eyes flicked to the food that Raven shifted in her arms, “I know you didn’t eat too much at dinner. Plus there are a few charms I can use to help with the pain.” Gray eyes flicked from Carrie’s face to her bandaged arm and back again, “Tiny as it is.”

The time traveller perched her hands on her hips, "Sounds good." She noticed how Raven's attention kept flicking to her midsection and drawled out, "Maybe once I'm healed I can help you too. Maybe some hand-to-hand?"

"Oh?” Raven felt a smile pull her lips, “You think a mage is good at _physical_ combat?"

"Well you're too smart for me to teach anything about strategy." She looked around Shadowcrest, humming out, "Maybe I can bring some _fun_ here."

"Trust me, the royals make sure that happens anyway," The mystic muttered under her breath. When Carrie turned to her, she raised her voice back to normal. "But you never know," Raven popped a grape into her mouth. A lazy shrug and a blush preceded her quiet, "I'm sure the future has _lots_ of types of entertainment."

Carrie bit her lip and tried not to think of whether or not Raven was being _that_ blatant. She cleared her throat and drawled out, "I'm not sure what civilians do, but I can joust with the best of the best." She mimed holding a lance and flexed a bit harder at the obvious flush on her healer's cheeks.

"That’s always a riot. And then when you win the crowd goes wild." Carrie lifted her hand to the sky, painting a picture. Her voice was a bit wistful as she added, "All you hear is them screaming your name and sometimes…"

She met Raven's stare and grinned, taking a stride forward to grab the mage's hand. She brought the back of Raven's palm to her lips, looking up from under her hair as she added, "And sometimes you even spot a gorgeous maiden in the stands and get to blow her a kiss." 

Raven laughed and covered half her face at her words, tucking some of her hair behind her ear, “I’d love to see that.”

Carrie smiled back, chuckling as she offered her arm and tilted her chin to the tallest portion of Shadowcrest, “I'll have to show you some day. But you said you wanted some charming done first?”

The mage giggled as she lightly poked Carrie’s cheek, nudging the knight’s gaze to the terrarium near the land’s edge. Raven eagerly took her arm and balanced the tray in her other hand, leading them into her home. Carrie let out a curious little hum as they walked through Shadowcrest's walls, her skin tingling with the _magic_ that permeated the air. She hadn't noticed it when she'd first woken up but now that she had been out of the environment for a few hours, the silky press was so heavy it bordered on stifling. Raven watched her as she reacted, her lips tightening as Carrie inadvertently tried to move her injured arm closer to her stomach.

Raven bit the inside of her cheek and snapped her face forward, trying to fully enjoy the knight's presence next to her even with the questions flying through her mind. Carrie sensed that she seemed to want to say something else, catching the way the mystic kept glancing at her from the corner of her eye, but both stayed quiet until they came upon an ornately carved door. 

"I just need to get a particular spell," Raven quietly explained. She let go of the time traveller and handed off the tray, bringing both hands up and reaching on the tips of her toes to brush the top of the door. The gem in her head gleamed as she rapidly slid her fingers over the wood in a rune, the places her skin touched leaving a faint glow. Carrie furrowed her brows at the quiet "Azarath. Mentrion. Zinthos" that Raven murmured, but she didn't let her concern show beyond that. 

The underneath of the door burned turquoise for half a second then faded so quick that Carrie wondered if she was seeing things. Raven sidled up next to her, taking the tray and laying her hand on the knight's bicep again, "Come on." 

Shadowcrest’s library was deathly quiet as they passed through. Carrie looked around at the mass of books and scrolls that lined every inch of the walls, a brow raising at the pillars of magic that held up the massive study. She tried to keep her breathing steady as they walked, the sheer amount of supernatural forces threatening to smother her lungs. Every time she blinked the darkness of the library shone turquoise behind her lids and Carrie wondered what Raven _did_ to the door. 

Raven set the tray on one on the tables and Carrie sat beside it, her head still angled up at the stained glass and magic support beams that weren't visible from outside. Emerald eyes watched as she started for one of the scroll-laden shelves, the pillars of magic undulating around her in a sphere as she stepped past. The mystic softly called over her shoulder, "I want to get this before Mom comes back for more research."

Carrie clicked her tongue, “Seems important.”

Raven nodded although the redhead couldn’t see. She bent over to quietly whisper to her feet, “Etativel eerht sevlehs pu.” Straightening up as she rose in the air, the mystic threw her braid over her shoulder and let out a hum as she ran her fingers over the scrolls’ seals, looking for what she needed. 

She bit her lip, “I’m not-- I can heal people a bit differently than doctors. I, well I _transfer_ them to myself. And with you technically not being born…” Her voice trailed off as she thought over the implications of time travel. Her head tilted to her side until her ear nearly touched her shoulder. Shaking herself out of the looping idea before it could take hold, Raven ran a tongue over her teeth, “Yet, I suppose. Perhaps I’ll have to do it in sections rather than all at once, but we’ll see. For now I just want to make sure everything’ll go okay. ”

Her lips pursed as she spotted the useless ‘Doctorly Scroll of Fate’ that her parents kept for some _ungodly_ reason. Raven turned it around so its gold seal was hidden, shifting a few inches to keep looking. Another issue came to her and she called back to the knight, “Especially until we figure out what magic that dragon must’ve had contact with.” 

Carrie rested her chin in her palm, “We don’t need it messing with your magic, eh?”

Raven nodded. Her face was grim as she went through the scrolls a tinge faster, “Precisely. Heaven knows what might happen if it’s left unchecked.”

Freckled fingers danced over the still throbbing claw marks, a knot twisting in her stomach. Carrie wet her lips, “Are you referring to death or…?”

There was a hesitant second’s pause, then, “Potentially. But also there’s the issue of whether or not you may get stuck.” 

Carrie stared at the back of the mystic’s head, “Stuck?”

“Your injury seems to be permanent and for what we know is linked to you traveling through time _now_ , but a lot of magic is _somewhat_ temporary. A spell can be broken, a rune scratched out, physical and mental changes reversed in an instant under the power of a strong enough mystic.” Raven snapped her fingers to emphasize her point. She gnawed on the inside of her cheek for a moment, taking a noisy breath in before adding, “If the dragon’s magic is weaning and you get accumulated to mine in this present…”

The mystic closed her eyes and shook her head, “Well, no one here really knows about those types of powers. It’s possible to get stuck in magic loops when you don’t know what you’re doing, how the runes and potions and spells interact. I’d imagine the same goes for _time_ loops too.”

Carrie watched as a question came to the mage’s mind, her shoulders perking up and her braid tilting to the side. The redhead forced down the hint of a smile; had the topic not been so terrifying, she would’ve laughed at the way Raven could have such a stoic face but such open body language. Bright, curious gray eyes met hers from across the library, “Do you _remember_ travelling through time?” 

The knight hesitated and Raven pressed on, “Were you conscious, or do you have any memories of what it was like?” A little breath escaped her as she finally found the scroll she was looking for. Carefully plucking it out from under the others, the mystic lowered herself back to the floor, her eyes briefly flicking to the windows as she tried to gauge how long they’d been there. 

She walked over to where Carrie was looking down at herself. The redhead clenched and unclenched her fist as she thought and Raven softly touched her shoulder, “Anything of the sort?”

Emerald eyes were a bit worried as her mind came up empty. Her fingers found the dragon’s claw-marks again and she ran the pads of her fingers over the raised edges, thinking to the familiarity of the burn of Raven’s magic. “It was… warm. More light around me than anything,” Although her words were confident Carrie furrowed her brows as she tried to remember all that she could. But alas, nothing definite in the blank space between the dragon’s scream and the robins’ springsongs. 

Raven saw the despondence on her face. The mage sighed and softly brushed aside some hair from the time traveller’s temple. Her smile made Carrie’s stomach flip, “That’s more than enough to go off of.” 

The mystic tilted her head. “Light and heat both have their place in the mystical world, Carrie. And with _this_ ,” She raised the scroll in the space between them, smiling at the way the blood-red seal glinted in the faint light, “I’ll figure something out. I promise.”

A bird flew past one of the windows and Raven looked up at the flicker, the corners of her lips quirking down. She noticed Carrie still holding her stomach and jumped a bit, ushering the redhead up, “Come on, let’s get you healed up.” 

\--

The terrarium was eerily quiet at night, the bugs silently trodding on the soil and the leaves curled in without the sun. It wasn’t Gotham’s largest garden --that title belonged to the accused witch doctor Isley and her circus lover down near the asylum-- but it held many of the same wonders, just in smaller portions: flowers, herbs, roots, saplings of nearly every berrying bush and fruiting tree imaginable, all capable of being used for healing and poison alike.

The mystic led them to the northwest corner, filled with more long-rooted grasses and hanging berry vines than the rest of the glasshouse. Carrie lazed on one of the benches as Raven got to work, drinking the now cold tea as she leaned against the glass and tucked her legs up underneath her. She stared at Raven as she went about, the mage’s movements flighty like a bird. 

Her braid fluttering around behind her did no favors to disprove the metaphor and Carrie hid her smile with another sip of tea.

Once she’d gathered up all the plants that she required, Raven perched on the bench next to her and starting rechecking the spell she had procured. The knight didn’t even attempt trying to figure out the words written on the scroll, more occupied when the mystic started unknotting the very top of her shirt. 

Raven let the cloth settle just above her chest, ignoring how the redhead’s brain was frying (she supposed bare shoulders were just as scandalous in the 8th century as they were in the 7th). The locket she’d yet to take off since the moment she’d first been summoned to this dimension was deathly cold and Raven pulled her necklace from around her neck, unfolding the altar cloth that bound the ornament. 

Carrie roughly sucked in a breath at the distressing sight of the pendant, the tea shooting up and out of her nose. She pounded on her chest as she desperately tried to get air, the thoughts swirling through her head. Her mind filled with the dragons she had slain, the identical pendants she had given to Terrance, the theories and concerns over what the pyropes would bring.

Wide emerald eyes flicked to Raven as the mage softly touched her back and murmured out “Is everything alright?” Carrie saw the words leave her mouth, but all she could focus on was the gem in the center of her forehead and how it shared the same cut as the pendant.

She'd noticed it before, but the coincidences were too much to ignore.

Taking a deep breath, Carrie licked her suddenly dry lips. She tried to say something, _anything_ to start the conversation, but when nothing came she merely shook her head. Raven frowned and the redhead reached up to grab the hand still on her shoulder. “I’ll tell you later,” She quietly stalled.

The mystic let out a quiet hum and Carrie aimed an awkward smile her way, "My arm's starting to ache."

Sighing, Raven nodded and smoothed down the scroll again, giving her a _look_. Gray eyes were contemplative, “We’ll talk about all of that later?”

Carrie bit the inside of her cheek, her head twitching in a way that could vaguely be taken as a nod. Raven seemed to decide that that answer was enough, taking a moment to tuck her braid firmly behind her. “Alright then,” The mystic sighed and held out her hand, nudging Carrie’s left wrist with her fingertips. “I want to start with your arm first.”

Raven faltered as the knight gave her the opposite hand instead. Her raised brow was question enough as she started painting her father’s insignia with the sap. “I use this one to aim,” Carrie shrugged. She would’ve rolled it had the mystic not been carefully coating the pale blue veins purple, but she stayed still.

At Raven’s quick, confused flick up to her face, Carrie added, “I’m more of a long distance fighter. Archery, longbows, the like…” A lazy grin brightened her face. The redhead didn’t seem to notice how her body language opened up at the topic, but Raven’s stare softened at how freely the time traveller was gesturing in the air above them, “When I was a girl I used to terrorize all the old teachers with my slingshots. I’d put a peach pit or an acorn in there and _ping!_ ” 

Carrie mimed letting go a shot with her free hand, her chuckles getting the best of her as she reminisced. Her head lolled back to rest against the glass and she smiled at Raven, “It was easier then, you know? No chivalry or training or duels with dragons that send you through time. Just me and my slingshot.”

There was the tiniest bit of sadness in the back of her voice. The mage finished drawing the rune, quietly asking, “You didn’t have any siblings?”

Carrie’s lips tightened into a forced smile at the question. She thought of the unsavory crowd she had stayed with before Terrance gave her a chance in his forces and closed her eyes. Before she could even attempt to say anything, Raven pressed her thumb to the pulse on her sap-covered wrist and hummed out, “I have older brothers, but I was raised as an only child too.”

A steady thrum of magic seeped between them. Carrie was pretty sure it had no impact on how difficult it was to keep her heartbeat from pounding as fast as a horse’s gallop, but she couldn’t be too sure. Raven leaned down until their foreheads just barely touched, her fingers still occupied with massaging her power into the fracture on the time traveller’s arm. She sucked in a quick breath at the touch, “Sure it gets awfully lonely, but finding others as you get older helps, doesn’t it?”

Carrie bit her lip, flushing as she raised her face until their noses brushed. The claw marks on her stomach hummed with magic and a joke desperately bubbled out of her -- _anything_ lighthearted to prevent her nerves from destroying the mood, “The two of us are just a pair of mayflies on an old horse’s ass, huh?”

Carrie bit back a groan at the absolute nonsense that had slipped out, knowing that her face must have revealed how badly she wanted to take that sentence back. Luckily, the mage took the oddity in stride. “The future has such colorful slang,” Raven softly noted. 

She closed her eyes and simply enjoyed their proximity as Carrie noted back, “That it does.”

Even without her sight, Raven saw the mass as it approached. There was a dull beating in the quiet air as a swarm of bats flew towards the fruit trees that lined Shadowcrest’s towers, their squeaks haunting with the shadows cloaking them. The light of the moon flickered above the women as a few stragglers took a shortcut over the terrarium to catch up with the rest. 

As they opened, gray eyes were a tinge unfocused. Glancing down at the freckled wrist in her hands, Raven didn’t bother speaking. She didn’t think she could, actually; not with how fixated she was on the tiniest strand of magic that called to her. It was so _familiar_ and it had burst from the dragon’s claws, weaving through nearly every blood vessel until it was now tickling under Carrie’s pulse, thin as a spider’s web but infinitely more persistent. 

A part of her wanted to reach towards it, but she _couldn’t_. Blinking once, twice, thrice, Raven’s lips formed a line when it did nothing to wet her dry eyes. The skin right above her brows burned and she dropped the knight’s arm at the feeling of her own demonic magic crying out for her. 

Her brows furrowed and Carrie mimicked her, her confusion when the mage didn’t move obvious through their touch. After a second of silence, Carrie’s nose twitched. 

That seemed to shake the mystic from whatever stupor had overcome her. Pulling away an inch, Raven stole a sheepish glance to the knight’s face. She allowed herself a few seconds to breath, then tenderly picked up the time traveller’s wrist again. 

She quietly murmured her mantra under her breath, the sticky sap gleaming in unison with her pyrope. Confident that she had some grasp on whatever magic had overcome Carrie, she aimed a half-smile the redhead’s way, “Come. Let’s try to get this spell working before the bats head in for the night.”

Raven closed her eyes and opened her mouth to start the spell, mentally reminding herself to have her parents put a spell of protection of Carrie sooner rather than later.


	5. The Interlude

Bruce was stone-faced as Raven softly put a hand on the redhead's arm. The young mystic was confidently singing Carrie’s praises and while he hoped her daughter's infatuation wasn't clouding Zatanna's judgment, but he couldn’t be sure. Although this knight was obviously loyal to Gotham and Gotham alone, the king still harbored his doubts. 

Unfortunately, the two of them weren’t alone. 

Had they been, he would’ve interrogated this ‘Carrie’ the same way he’d interrogated Raven when Zatanna first brought her to the Manor. But Cassandra was immediately at the short woman’s side, curious as she poked the metal that Carrie donned and obviously proud that she was a knight. Richard and Jason were at Raven’s sides, speaking to her in quiet voices but looking pleased at whatever she whispered back at them. Timothy was listening to the time traveller explain her last fight and Damian looked positively _entranced_ at the idea of the last dragon she had encountered; a chained dragon was a ruled dragon afterall. 

The king met Zatanna’s eye from across the room. His advisor gave him a pointed look, full of equal parts worry and confidence. “Trust me,” She mouthed to him. 

Sighing, Bruce pinched the skin between his eyes and unrolled his scroll from Tamaran, flicking his attention over all the guests he would host and all the materials the neighboring country would offer. His sapphire gaze flicked to Carrie once more but was gone just as quick. As Gotham’s king he had a wedding to plan, two countries to unite and reinforcements to deploy, so he begrudgingly decided to trust his children and his advisor as they trusted Raven. 

At least for the time being.

\--

Raven’s room in the Manor was less a bedroom and more a study with a bed shoved in the corner, but Carrie didn’t mind. Walls piled high with scrolls and books beat the overcrowded barracks by a longshot, at least. Sighing in exhaustion, the knight fell face first onto the quilts, still feeling that wiggle of dread at the cerulean wool under her body. After the boisterous affair that was dinner, she didn’t want to dwell on what she could remember of the royal’s futures, let alone prince Richard’s.

Her thoughts didn’t show on her body and the mystic let out a chuckle, softly sitting next to her. The bed dipped at the extra weight and Raven ran her fingers through the short bronze strands, “You _do_ know this is my room, correct?”

Carrie only let out a lazy whine. Raven’s smile widened and she scratched the woman’s scalp, savoring the little groan her action caused. Quietly, she questioned, “Would you like to spend the night?” 

The time traveller lifted her face. Flushing, the mage sheepishly pulled her hand back. Carrie caught it before it could fall in her lap, intertwining their fingers. Squeaking a bit, Raven rushed out, “I don’t know if I’ll be sleeping too much. The Manor’s library has a few more books stuck away somewhere so Mom and I’ll be going in and out. You won’t mind?” 

Carrie’s nose scrunched up in thought, then relaxed as she made up her mind. She rose up on her elbows and grinned at the mystic, "Nah, I'll be fine. But can I do one thing first?"

“Hmm--” Raven’s gasp caught in her throat as Carrie abruptly rose up a few inches to softly bump their noses together. 

Pale fingers shakily rose to trace the redhead’s jawline. A second passed, seemingly an eternity. Raven let her tongue darted out to wet her lips, watched as Carrie stared at her lips during the move, then surged down to kiss her. 

Her shoulders rose at the shiver that rolled down her spine at how _good_ it felt to finally kiss her and Raven urged Carrie closer. She felt the change as the knight tried to hide how the stretch pulled at her stomach and nudged her down by the shoulders. One hand slid along Carrie’s side, resting in the space between her bandage-free arm and her midsection. 

The magic in her rings thrummed being so near to the dragon’s marks and Raven shifted until she was practically laying her torso above Carrie’s. Humming at the lessened strain to her partially-healed injuries, the knight wrapped her arms around the mystic’s shoulders, tugging her even closer. Carrie tangled her fingers in the hair just above the knot of Raven’s braid, giggling into the kiss as the mage cupped her cheeks to kiss her firmer. 

Some of her braid came undone at the redhead’s move, a strand falling into the space between their cheeks. Giggling with the meager amount of air in her lungs, Raven softly pulled apart until her lips brushed Carrie’s to tuck the hair back behind her ear. She leaned down for one last quick peck before sheepishly pulling away half an inch, feeling her mother’s approaching aura more than hearing her footsteps along the floorboards. 

“I should probably get going.” Even as she spoke, gray eyes latched onto how the redhead’s lips were just a shade darker. Clearing her throat, Raven ran a thumb over a particularly dark cluster of freckles, “Especially while it’s still light out.”

Carrie slowly opened her eyes, a lopsided smile stretching her lips. She heard how close Zatanna was to the room but ignored everything but the blushing mystic in front of her. Hoping that her cheeks weren’t _too_ red, the knight reached for the hand that had yet to let go of her face. 

Pulling down to kiss the silver ring that adorned her middle finger, Carrie tilted her head towards the pillows that she laid on. She didn’t bother not trying to think of a way to lessen the flirtation in her words, “There any chance you’ll get _any_ sleep tonight?”

Raven’s cheeks flushed even darker, “Perhaps.”

Laughing, Carrie let her brows jump, “Then which side do you prefer?”

\--

Long after the moon had taken her place in the night sky, Raven quietly slunk back into her room. She rubbed her fists over her strained eyes, discouraged at how little they had been able to find in the Manor’s archives. A smile curled her lips as Carrie shifted to the right side to let her lay down, the fighter wrapping her arms around the mage once she was under the quilts. 

Carrie pressed a quick kiss to her shoulder, curling until she was spooning Raven. “Everything went well?”

Gray eyes shut. Rather than answering, she noted, “You don’t sound like you’ve been sleeping.” 

“Couldn’t. Was busy thinking.”

Raven wriggled in her grasp, rolling to face the knight. She waited until their noses nearly touched to prod, “About?”

Carrie opened her eyes. They stared at each other for nearly a minute, taking in the features that they could with the meager moonlight. Finally, Carrie squeezed her eyes tight and huddled closer, “Everything.” 

A heavy sigh forced its way out as she buried her nose in the crook of Raven’s neck, “About the future and the past--the present, I guess. And how I almost slipped up when Jason was talking about the calvary.” 

Raven shifted at the mention. Her fingers ran through the knight’s hair and her brows furrowed as she murmured, “You’re dealing with that a lot, right? This whole issue with… not revealing too much?”

“Yeah,” Carrie blew a raspberry and squeezed Raven a bit tighter. A tiny smile came over her lips when the mystic tried to smother her ticklish laugh, but even _that_ couldn’t keep her mood from sinking again. Leaning up to kiss the line of Raven’s jaw, she admitted against her skin, “I don’t know how much to keep from _you_ , but I was really holding back when we were in Shadowcrest.”

Pale fingers were back to running through her hair, “I could tell.”

“It’s just--” Carrie cut herself off as she really thought about what she was going to say. Another sigh left her, “I don’t really know _how_ I’m supposed to be acting, you know? I wasn’t the best at history but I _know_ I take some of the things I know for granted. I don’t-- I don’t need that getting out and messing up time itself.”

Raven nodded once, the next leap obvious, “But you want to talk about it.”

“I do!” The knight punctuated her whine by slipping out of their embrace, her face scrunching in pain as she jerked her torso too fast. Carrie looked up at the ceiling, squinting up at the moonlit bits of ink splatter that had somehow gotten splashed on the walls. Her lips trembled as Raven leaned up on an elbow but she didn’t look her way. 

However, the concerned stare boring into her face was almost too much. Raven let her fingertips slide up a constellation of freckles on her collar and the words flooded out before she could think, “I wanna spar with Jason with some of the new combat techniques.” Her eyes flicked to Raven’s face, “I wanna tell Cassandra all about _how_ I became a knight. I’d love to talk strategy with Timothy. And Damian would probably love to know all about the other dragons out there. And _you_ ,” Carrie turned and lifted up to peck the mage’s chin. “I want to tell you all about what happens with these witch trials, but I _can’t_.”

“But believe me,” Carrie pressed their foreheads together. Her pupils were blown wide, whether from her impromptu speech or the feeble light in the room, neither knew, “I _want_ to. I feel like-- I feel like I should let you know _everything_.”

Raven held her stare for a long few seconds. She bit the inside of her cheek and blinked once, twice. Her words were quiet, secretive, warning, “I _am_ rather good at keeping secrets.”

Carrie smiled and looked down, letting most of her weight slump onto the taller woman. She snorted and ran a hand over her face as Raven laid back against the pillows, giving her space to resume her place on the cambion’s side, “I figured.” When she didn’t bother saying anything else Raven dared to cuddle closer, her hand sliding along the raised scars on the time traveller’s stomach. 

She let out a tiny sigh, her lips pressing to the knight’s hairline; she hummed out, “May I ask, then?”

“You can. But I don’t know if I should answer,” Carrie murmured back.

A pause settled over them. Raven shifted to get more comfortable, lifting up to pull the ends of her hair from out under their bodies. She decided to get on with it, “Does the marriage go well?”

Carrie buried her face in the crook of the mystic’s neck again. She thought back to how much she remembered from school and her listening to Terrance’s rants but declined to answer just yet, her words slow and teasing as she tried to avoid confronting the odd cluster of emotions she had shoved into the room, “You looooove them.”

Raven let out another quiet sound, her lips a line as she decided Carrie was remarkably adept at avoiding questions when she wanted to. Still, she pulled the redhead closer to her chest, a small smile on her face as she admitted, “I do. Dick and I are particularly close.”

That got her a simple nod. “I noticed. He seems to get the whole magic-thing the best of all of them.”

“He’s the main reason Bruce even considered letting me anywhere near the Manor,” Raven let out a quiet laugh, the sound morphing into a rattling sigh. Gray eyes squeezed shut, “Kory makes him so happy --even before this, this _arrangement_ \-- but with the threat of war it’s hard not to worry…”

Carrie rolled her lip between her teeth. A breath filled her lungs and Raven rushed to cut her words off, “Don’t say it. Please.” Her rings were cold as she ran her too-warm fingers along the curve of Carrie’s ear. There was a tremor of doubt and a lot of remorse as she shook her head, “I’m sorry I’m pushing. I shouldn’t.” 

Easily accepting the apology, emerald eyes narrowed in thought. A question came to the knight on the long-finished war that she just barely remembered; sure, it should’ve been obvious, but history _really_ wasn’t her strong suit. Carrie rested her cheek on the mage’s chest, “Why’s the war starting again?”

She heard Raven’s heart skip a beat. “You don’t remember?” The mystic let out a humorless snicker as she buried her face in Carrie’s short hair, “Didn’t you know? Magic’s the reason. It always is.”

Carrie twitched at the darkness in her voice and Raven rolled her shoulders, rushing on before she could get entrenched in the topic, “Kory’s sister, Komand’r. She’s the oldest so she has the highest ruling stake of the three. So that means Tamaran and all the smaller unconquered city states are headed by leaders who are rather… like-minded with these witch hunters. Krypton is as neutral as Gotham is now, but neither will be safe in a few years.” 

Her fingers curled in a fist in Carrie’s hair, “They’ve been snuffing out the rest of the magic community across the continent. I know quite a few have fled to Asia for now, but things will probably get worse before they get better.”

“But they _do_ get better.” 

Raven paused at the assertion. She giggled against the redhead’s temple and cuddled as close as she could. Their legs intertwined as she drawled, “Is that a comfort or a confession?”

Carrie kissed her neck again, “You’ll have to see.”

“Well,” Raven felt a small smile come over her face, “Since you’re here with me right now, I’d imagine it’s a comfort.”

That got her a groan and the wonderful feeling of Carrie squeezing her tight. Laying on her back, the mage softly ran her fingers over the slight tan the bandages had left on the knight’s arm. They sunk into silence again as she traced mindless patterns over the tiny change in hue, but sleep couldn’t come for Raven. 

After what must have only been a few minutes but felt like a mark, she swallowed the lump in her throat and whispered into the air, “I’m sorry.”

Carrie’s brows jumped but she didn’t open her eyes, “Why?”

“We couldn’t find much. And what with most of the mystics leaving… it could take a while to find a way to get you back. I know it’s already been a month but… But I promise you’ll be safe regardless. I’ll make sure of that.”

Carrie pressed a tiny smile against her collar, “That a comfort or a confession?” 

Raven chuckled and the time traveller sleepily drummed her fingers over her hips, “Because you’re here with me _now_ , so I’d imagine I’ll be fine.”


	6. The Acceptance

Carrie lazily strolled into the library, leaning over her lover's shoulder to kiss her cheek. She drummed her fingers against the wax of the scroll she held, "News from Damian. Again."

They shared a look, knowing exactly why the king was so miffed with her past letter’s contents. The mage sucked her teeth and put down her cup of tea, muttering under her breath, "He must not have enjoyed my last report." 

Snorting as she sat on the stool next to the bird, Carrie rested an elbow on the table. Emerald eyes flicked from her wife’s face to the letter from Constantine --one that she’d yet to let out of her sight since it arrived a fortnight ago-- and back, "You ready to make our case?"

Raven leaned back on her seat’s cushion until half of the legs were in the air and peeked around the doorframe. She glanced to where the newest member of their family was sleeping in the kitchen, his tiny form still burly enough to make maneuvering his wings difficult. At her stare on his back the dragon looked up, the gold of his eyes glinting from the sunlight seeming in through the windows. 

Raven smiled at him and brought all four legs of her stool back to the ground. A sigh escaped the mystic and she pressed her lips to Carrie’s cheek, "I'll try my best."

\--

The Manor was as breathtaking as always, its gothic charm and darkness welcoming her in as she easily strode through the doors. She didn't wait around for any of the servants to greet her, instead heading directly to the kitchen. 

The head chef nodded at her when she stepped into his domain, not even bothering to direct her as the mystic set about picking the leaves and setting the pot to boil. Raven figured getting him less on-edge would be the best way to start the conversation that he wouldn’t let her get out of. 

Besides, the king would never _admit_ that her tea-making rivalled his late butler’s, but chamomile always got him in a better mood. 

And so, when she’d balanced the kettle of steaming water and the two cups of already steeped tea in her arms and made her way to the stables, Damian only sighed as he beckoned Raven to join him in watching the livestock be checked for ticks. The two lounged against the stable’s walls and once his tea was halfway gone the king looked into Raven’s face. He had his mother’s eyes but if Raven didn’t know any better, she’d think a young Bruce was standing in front of her. 

“I remember when your face was chubby,” The mage tenderly teased, reaching up to poke his cheek. She aimed a proud little half-smile his way, her chest aflutter at how far he’d matured to fit this new role in the past few years, “You’ve aged.”

And, just like his father, Damian felt no need for casual talk, “You haven’t.”

Gray eyes slowly blinked, “Right to the point, then?”

He raised a brow. Raven nodded and looked down into her tea, whirling the cup and watching the contents swirl. She decided to be as blunt as he’d prefer her to be, “Do you remember when Carrie first arrived? How she spoke of _dragons_ and pendants and the like?”

Damian narrowed his eyes at her. Raven let her lungs fill with air and pushed the explanation out in a sigh, “I believe we’ve found one of them. I thought you’d like to see.”

The king crossed his arms, “Royalty doesn’t intermingle with magic so directly, Raven. You know that.”

She grinned, “You don’t have to keep all of your father’s rules, you know. You already opened up more than he has, just give it a chance.” Her eyes were somehow both serious and teasing as she tapped the back of his hand, “As your _advisor_ , trust me on this. I think you’ll like him.”

Damian ran his tongue over his teeth, glancing once at his favorite cow and then back to his advisor. “I have a meeting with the generals Friday morning,” He warned

Raven bit back a smile, “You’ll be back before Thursday’s supper, my King. I promise.”

\--

Damian hadn’t been too talkative on the way to Shadowcrest, electing only to listen with his fingers steepled as Raven explained how they had how found the creature during a trip back to her mother’s home. Carrie sleepily waved at them from her spot against the couch’s arm, lifting her face and closing her eyes as Raven pecked her forehead.

The demoness put out the candle, bathing the room in darkness save for the tiniest flicker of moonlight. “Damian and I’ll be in the backgardens if you need us,” The mystic quietly spoke into her love’s short hair. Her fingers rubbed a circle in her knight’s earlobe and she teased, “Get some _proper_ sleep, Darling. My old room is comfortable enough.”

She placed the extra quilt over the couch’s back onto Carrie’s shoulders and stood to her full height, beckoning for Damian to follow her. As the pair made their way into the clearing where blackberry bushes had entangled themselves with the dandelions, sprinkling the grass with thorns and seeds. A hyperactive burst of crimson sat in the middle of it, bounding back and forth between a dead clump of bush thorns and the leftover bones from Carrie’s dinner. It stopped gnawing as the two approached, its pupils growing and its wings puffing out at the unfamiliar sight of Damian. 

Raven took the royal’s arm and the dragon faltered, creeping closer to where they crouched. His nostrils twitched as the mystic grabbed Damian’s hand and urged it forward. The king let out a hum, the distrust on his face softening as the small dragon pressed its snout into his palm, “Wow.”

His advisor rested her hands on his shoulder and laid on chin on top, “Carrie’s taken to calling him Goliath,” Raven murmured.

She watched as Damian worked his way up to petting the creature, both hands staying far from the worryingly sharp claws. A pale hand snuck out to scratch behind the hint of scales under his ears. Goliath rumbled in what might have been a purr as crackles of her magic ran over him, the gold of his eyes brighter than what should have been possible. 

Damian clicked his tongue, “Are his eyes…?”

“Carrie is almost certain they’re the pendants.” Raven bit the inside of her cheek, “Did you see the edges of his pupils?”

“How they glowed like your gem? I did.”

The mage softly smiled at the unbridled curiosity that hid in his voice. King or not, Damian hadn’t changed _too_ much throughout the years and she hid her grin by hugging his arm. The request bubbled out of her before she could talk herself out of rushing, “How would you like your own dragon, my King?”

Damian snorted, “You may like to pretend you’re a part of this family but you aren’t blood, Raven. I get enough of that from Cassandra.”

The mystic only blinked up at him and he sighed, “You’re lucky Goliath is such an advantage--”

“I’d imagine the cows are just as comfortable to nap on. As are the horses and the sheep and the goats and--”

He ignored her, “--so I’ll find someplace he can stay. It’ll be between the three of us.”

“Carrie suggested the mountain range.” Raven tilted her head, “She was rather insistent on it, actually.”

He nodded to himself at the advice, scratching the dragon under its chin, “Then I’ll send a pigeon to Kory, see if she could spare some soldiers to help any missionaries cross while we build.” 

Raven smiled at the king, glad that things seemed to be going according to plan. “Thank you, Damian.”

He gave her a tiny smile back, his gaze flicking to Goliath as he thought. Olive eyes went back to the cambion, intense and serious as he addressed the elephant of the past few years, “Is Carrie staying forever?”

She kept her face stoic but he had learned her tendencies as thoroughly as she had learned his. Damian bumped their shoulders, “It’s been over a decade, Raven.” As her gaze fell to the floor his eyes seemed to darken even further, although the shadows over his face helped the illusion, “Or are you going back with her?”

Raven leaned back on her haunches and inaudibly laughed down at herself. Her rings nearly caught in the fabric of her cloak as she smoothed her skirts down. Rather than answer him, she hummed out, “Time travel is an _awful_ thing, isn’t it?”

Damian raised a brow, “I'd imagine most magic is complicated.” 

She turned to stare at him. She took a loud breath through her nose, "We're still not sure. _I'm_ not sure. I belong in this time and she belongs in hers, but we'll see."

“Do you know how?”

Raven’s eyes moved over his shoulder as she thought back to her father’s letter. The Englishman’s urging to act _soon_ , what with Gotham’s supernatural balance teetering as mystics fled the continent. She considered his interpretation of her mother’s studies from their time showcasing the joys of magic to Wu Zetian, wondering if _now_ really was the time she could claim the completely faded mark of Scath as her own. That much power could send Carrie back to the exact second she had been taken, but still she hesitated. 

And she knew Carrie was hesitating at the thought too. But that wasn’t an option right now-- not yet. Raven physically shook the idea from her mind and focused her attention back on the royal, “In theory I do.”

Damian didn’t _glare_ at her, but his pointed look at her secrets was lecture enough. “I hope you put that theory to practice soon.”

Raven fiddled with the rings on her fingers. “Magic and science _are_ quite similar,” She softly agreed. “Though I’m not sure this is how early they were meant to intersect.”

\--

Shadowcrest had been self-maintaining for nearly a century. 

A meticulous collection of runes and spells and potions that rarely needed to be replenished were built into its foundations. They protected so much, but day-to-day they kept the plants from overgrowing, prevented any collections of rain from flooding, halted any molds and kept the wood and fitted stones from weakening. Giovanni had established those safeguards when he’d first erected the estate and Zatanna had been steadfast in sustaining them. When she and Constantine fled to Asia with the third wave of fleeing mystics, she had been confident in her home’s safety if Raven had to leave.

And with the screeching mob currently surrounding the property, leave she had to do. 

Carrie held her bolt in one hand and her crossbow in the other, keeping a steady eye on how large the crowd was becoming. Her jaw tensed and she called out a harried “ _Raven!_ ” when the torches came out (and not three hours after midday --that never boded well). She thickly swallowed as she spied the logs and twigs that were being thrown at Shadowcrest’s gates. 

History was never her best subject, but she knew how all successful witch hunts ended. 

Her feet tapped on the observatory’s floor as she waited for Raven to return. As she agonized over where they would go and what would happen to her partner’s childhood home, emerald eyes watched as a stake was constructed, then its twin assembled not ten strides adjacent. 

Raven’s steps were heavy as she rushed up the stairs, two at a time. The mystic’s pupils were blown wide as she hefted the packs down near Carrie’s feet, taking in but barely registering how the knight was decked out in the armor she’d arrived in. 

“There’s no sign of you left, correct?”

“I got everything. Did you…?” Carrie bit her lip as she watched the tension double in Raven’s shoulders. The mystic glanced back one last time at the main tower of Shadowcrest, her stomach knotting up at the idea of leaving.

She knew her mother’s protective spells and the freshly carved runes she surrounded the property with would keep any non-mystic off the premises for at least a year, but she couldn’t be too sure. Raven flinched as a rock was thrown towards where they stood. The invisible barrier kept it from smashing the glass, then lit up as dozens of burning sticks and alcohol-soaked, wadded up shirts were tossed over the hedges. 

Carrie wrapped an arm around her lover as Raven’s shoulders curled in on themselves, the mystic barely keeping the sob from escaping as the witch hunters tried to light her home in flames. The runes did their jobs; no ember could get any strength as it landed on Shadowcrest, but the surrounding area wasn’t so lucky. 

The stakes were set aflame and the surrounding forest soon followed, the crackles of fire drowned out by the witch hunters’ chant to “Kill the witch!”

Biting the inside of her cheek so hard she tasted blood, Carrie lifted her helmet and rose up on the tips of her toes to kiss her love’s temple. The words came hesitantly, but she knew they had to be said: “We need to get going.”

\--

Carrie growled as she paced in front of the cave’s entrance, frustrated and scared at all that had happened. In the hour that had passed Raven had yet to move from her meditative stance, her chanting filling the air and Carrie’s memories with the quiet repeat of “Azarath. Mentrion. Zinthos.” 

The knight found herself mouthing the mantra’s counterpart as she paced, the long-faded scars from Goliath’s claws pulsing in tune to the “In inceptum finis est” that inadvertently slipped out of her. 

The shadows of the cave seemed darker and the light from the sunset seemed warmer once Carrie spoke those words and the knight froze in place, shaking away the shivers that tap-danced down her spine. She strode to where her love was sitting and knelt in front of her. She tenderly ran her thumb just under one of the bags that were starting to form under the mystic’s eyes, her mind awash with worry. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

Raven slowly opened her eyes. Those gray irises were still thin as sheetmetal, but the mystic appeared to have calmed down slightly. A tiny smile made the corners of her lips twitch up and she grabbed the hand that held her face, softly squeezing Carrie’s fingers, “I’m fine now.”

The knight considered her for a long moment. Raven was still obviously shaken up from how close she’d been to getting burned at the stake, but Carrie knew she wasn’t quite ready to put her feelings to words just yet. So the time traveller leaned in to press their foreheads together, biting back a smile at the reaction she always got. 

Even after all the years, Raven’s breath still hitched the way it had the first time they’d tried. 

Carrie brushed her thumb up to wipe away the barest hint of tears in her love’s eyes, knowing that she needed something tranquil after the afternoon that she’d endured. Smiling, the redhead nudged their noses together. Her words were a whisper, “Wanna watch the sunset?”

The demoness nodded. Intertwining their hands, Carrie helped Raven stand then led them to where Goliath was half-heartedly watching over the cave’s entrance. He stirred as they approached, his wings fluttering as their weight rested against his stomach. 

It was quiet as the two lazed on Goliath, looking out at the view. Gotham to the west, Tamaran to the east, the very top of the ocean only seen as a thin navy bar underneath the sunset. The dragon was calm as he went back to snoozing, pacified by the magic that clung to the pair and the waning heat on his scaly fur. 

Carrie let out a lazy sigh and pressed her nose to Raven’s neck. Damian’s words were still loud in her head and she drummed her fingers along her love’s stomach. Emerald eyes fluttered shut as she simply enjoyed being in this time. 

The knight tried to urge her mind to be silent, to relax as much as she wanted to and appreciate the feel of Raven’s warm body against hers, but she couldn’t. Ten years and nearly eight months since she’d first travelled through time, nineteen months since she’d first encountered Goliath, and she’d hardly aged a month. 

Then again, Raven hadn’t felt the effects of time either. 

A heavy breath filled her lungs. "I should try to get back," Carrie murmured. 

Above her, she could feel Raven nod, the movement somehow both stiff and unconcerned, "You should." 

The knight felt a grin split her lips and she angled her face up to the cave’s stalactites. They were smaller than the ones she had been thrown into all those years in the future, but infinitely more welcoming in the light of Raven’s presence. She lazily knocked her temple to the side of her lover’s chin, "But not today?"

Raven grabbed Carrie's hand and kissed her knuckles. Her thumbs rubbed tiny circles along the redhead's palm, "Not today. Please."

“Good,” The knight gave her a little smile. Relieved beyond words, Carrie brought their hands back to her face to kiss the inside of her mystic’s wrist, “I really didn’t want to get up, anyway.”


End file.
